


It's Just a Dimension Jump (to the Left)

by Disneymagics



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Kissing, Caring Jared Padalecki, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FBI Agent Jensen Ackles, First Kiss, Horror, Hurt Jensen, Hurt Jensen Ackles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Misha Collins, Rocky Horror Picture Show References, Romance, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 09:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19764982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disneymagics/pseuds/Disneymagics
Summary: Jensen has had a rough life with all the scars, physical, mental, and emotional, to prove it.  He keeps them all hidden because he learned from an early age what telling the truth will get him, a room in a home for troubled teens and anti-psychotic meds.  But no matter what anyone else says, he knows monsters do exisit.  From the time he was fifteen years old, he's been on a quest that has consumed his whole life.  Maybe, when he reaches the end of his quest, he can lead a normal life again.  Maybe, he can even reconnect with his high school sweetheart, Jared.  Nah, that's just a fairy tale and fairy tales don't come true.  Not for Jensen.





	1. It's so Dreamy

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter names come from The Rocky Horror Picture Show's song Time Warp. Thank you to my cheerleaders, emmatheslayer, taralyngrady, and somer for giving me love and support. A special thank you to jdl71 not only for the quick and enthusiastic beta, but also for giving me some great ideas and acting as a sounding board. My artist fridayblues did an amazing job, creating two gorgeous pieces of artwork for my story. I don't know how to include them in the story here, but you can see them on LJ and you should because they are absolutely beautiful!

**Now**

  
Jensen pumps his fist in the air and whoops. "Yeah! That's what I'm talking about. Serious streaker! Who's up for another ten-song set?" He twirls the drumsticks through his fingers with a flourish, looking expectantly from AJ to Ty and then over at the girls, Danneel and Felicia, where they sit on the couch.  
  
Resting the plastic guitar against the seat back, Danneel massages her strumming hand and says, "Another one?"  
  
AJ's eyes widen comically. "Jensen, you are one crazy mo-fo, dude. It's like...after midnight on a Tuesday! We've been playing rock band for over three hours."  
  
Internally, Jensen winces, but externally he merely arches one eyebrow at his housemate. "And your point is?"  
  
"My point is that it’s Tuesday night, I have school in the morning. Felicia, Ty and Danneel have to work in the morning. _You_ have to work in the morning." AJ waves the microphone around over his head, sandy-brown, wavy hair taking on that wild look it gets whenever he's worked up over something, which is to say most of the time. "We all have to be up early. Now, maybe you don't need to sleep...ever. But the rest of us do."  
  
Ty scrubs a hand down his face as he pulls the bass guitar strap over his head. "I gotta agree with doofus over there on this one," he says with an apologetic smile for Jensen. "I'm beat, brother."  
  
"No, hey, I get it. S'cool." Jensen pushes the mounted rubber disks that pose as a drum set out of the way and stands up. His back twinges, so he stretches both arms behind himself and twists until he feels the satisfying crick of his spine realigning. Maybe he has been sitting in the same position for too long. "You guys go ahead and turn in. I'm just gonna...think I'll head over to Chevy's for a while. Not really tired, you know? Got some energy I still need to burn off before I can get to sleep."  
  
Truth of it is, he _is_ tired. His eyes feel all scratchy and his left shoulder aches. It's an old ache that goes bone deep, and it's always there. He's gotten so used to it that he can ignore it most of the time, unless he's been using his shoulder muscles a lot or unless he's really tired.  
  
"Is Chevy's even open this late on a weeknight?" Danneel asks, scrunching up her petite nose and squinting at him like she's about to launch an all-out investigation. Reminds him a little of Kane, his director at the FBI, when the man suspects Jensen of trying to get out of paperwork. The look is much cuter on Danneel than it is on Christian. Even so, the last thing he needs is for his friends to become suspicious. They worry about him enough as it is.  
  
"Course they're open." Jensen grabs his jacket and heads for the door before anyone else can ask any questions. He doesn't miss the concerned look that passes between Felicia and Ty.  
  
His housemates are good people, great friends, but sometimes they can be too nosy and Jensen hates questions. So, he'll head over to Chevy's where the music is loud and conversation is next to impossible. He'll surround himself with a sea of people and perhaps he'll even find someone to hook up with. Some nameless person who doesn't know him, doesn't care that he won't be going to sleep tonight and, most importantly, won't ask why.  
  
"Jensen, wait." Standing up from the couch, Felicia takes a step forward, hand outstretched as if to stop him.  
  
His smile is soft and as genuine as he can make it. "It's okay, really. I'll see you guys in the morning."  
  
Then, he escapes into the cool darkness of the March evening, closing the door of his old Victorian house behind him. The house is large, with three stories and enough bedrooms for him and his four housemates to each have their own. He’d bought the largest house he could afford with the sole purpose of filling it up with people and constant activity and commotion. Sometimes Jensen regrets the decision to put a limit on the house’s capacity. Sometimes he wishes he had more friends who could come live with him so that bedroom sharing would be mandatory. Sleep might become a possibility if there were people within easy reach, if he could hear their breathing in the dark and know he wasn't alone.   
  
The streets are quiet this time of night, only the occasional car making its way slowly through the quaint section of Alexandria, Virginia that Jensen calls home. His neighborhood consists mostly of families and young professionals who work in Washington DC just like he does. The area is close enough to the Metro to make commuting possible and far enough away to avoid some of the more unseemly aspects of city living.  
  
Streetlamps up and down the residential road provide plenty of light to see by, nevertheless, shadows in the dark places around his house and driveway seem to writhe and twist like souls being tortured on the rack. Jensen's hands involuntarily ball into fists as he stops to get a better look at the black spaces around his car, hyper aware of his surroundings, body as taut as a drawn bow string, ready to defend himself if necessary. Satisfied that nothing is crouching in the gloom, Jensen closes the remaining distance and gets into his car.  
  
As he drives, the silence begins to creep him out, the noise from the engine not nearly loud enough to keep his thoughts at bay. A voice inside his head begins to seethe, raw and ragged, the words just as clear as the one and only time, many years ago, he'd heard them spoken out loud.   
  
_Open the door...can’t find you...must have you...you belong to me_  
  
Quickly, Jensen gropes at the car stereo, stabs at the dials and buttons, jacking the volume up to full blast. Music blares through the speakers and the voice fades into his memory, tolerable once again.  
  
Sound helps, it always does, the louder the better. Anything that distracts him, really. People make the best distractions.  
  
Chevy's comes into view soon after he leaves the residential area behind. A stand-alone sign in front, facing the street, shows the name in electric blue flowing script, framed in pink neon. The building itself has no distinguishable features other than three stairs that lead up to a set of black double doors. The blacked out windows make promises of illicit activities within.  
  
Clif, the bouncer, greets Jensen with a nod as soon as the doors close behind him. With the music at eardrum-rupturing level inside the club, Jensen simply nods back. The base beat infuses his mind and body. The very floor vibrates like the aftershocks from a miniature earthquake, making his heart rate increase like it’s trying to keep time.   
  
A smoky haze from the fog machines used on stage gives the main room an otherworldly vibe. It feels unreal in a way, as though he's stepped through a veil into an adult section of Neverland. No matter how many times he's been here, he always gets that same fantastic feeling. The ever-present kernel of agitation in the pit of his stomach dissolves just a little, replaced by a calm he rarely feels.  
  
The only light comes from track lighting on the floor, the blue-tinted stage lights, and the dim recessed lights in the ceiling. Performers are dancing on stage and on the elevated platforms in the middle of the dance floor. They're all in various stages of undress, some of them in costumes made mostly of sequins or feathers. One guy has on a cowboy hat, a pair of tight, gold shorts and nothing else. His oiled muscles ripple as he holds his hat on his head with one hand and rotates his hips suggestively.   
  
Breathing in deeply the scents of musky cologne, sweat, and the citrus fruits used to garnish cocktails, Jensen leans against the back wall as he takes stock of the present situation. There's a good crowd here tonight. Not as many as on a Friday or Saturday, certainly not packed, but for a Tuesday it's not bad. About two dozen men and women are grinding on the dance floor with about half that many lined up at the bar, bottles of beer or more exotic drinks in their hands. Here and there, the booths and tables are occupied with couples or small groups, leaning in close to hear each other over the booming music.  
  
Several of the men are attractive, and Jensen lets his gaze linger on one particular guy over at the bar, making eye contact before turning away and moving to the dance floor. He won't make the first move, he never does, just lets his quarry know he might be interested and then waits to see what comes of it. Some guys like to be the aggressor, the predator, and Jensen...well, Jensen likes to be chased, likes his men tall and confident, likes someone who can physically dominate him. If the guy decides not to approach him, it's either because he isn't interested or because he's too shy. Jensen is fine with that because then he knows up front without the risk of rejection and without investing precious time on someone who may turn out not to be assertive enough.  
  
He heads for the middle of the dance floor where the crowd is thickest, immerses himself in the mass of warm bodies all around him. Heat pulses through him along with the bass beat of the music. It's intoxicating. Some people crave certain foods, some people crave cigarettes or alcohol or drugs. Jensen craves the press and surge of a large crowd, the louder and wilder the better.  
  
Closing his eyes, he raises his arms over his head. The ache in his shoulder intensifies, but long practice allows him to block out the pain. Cotton whispers against his skin and he knows the hem of his t-shirt has risen up to reveal a sliver of hip and stomach. Then, he forgets it all, gives himself over to the music and begins to move, in sync with the beat and the other dancers in a way that makes him feel a profound connection with them, a singularity of purpose.  
  
He's so lost in the sensation that it takes a while before he notices someone has come up behind him. A hand on his hip finally alerts him that there's a body molded to his back, mimicking his movements almost flawlessly. Whoever is behind him doesn't lack self-confidence, that's for sure. Warm breath ghosts across his ear as an arm circles his waist and a second hand slips beneath his shirt to rest on his stomach. Strong hands, Jensen notices.   
  
Curious, he turns within the light embrace, the hint of a lazy smile on his lips. He's pleased to see it's the man he'd singled out at the bar. The guy is about his same height and build, maybe a little slimmer, with brown hair and smoldering brown eyes.   
  
Letting his arms drop to the man's shoulders, Jensen leans in close and says, "Hi, I'm Jensen."  
  
When all he gets back is a smirk, Jensen wonders if maybe his introduction was swallowed up by the thumping, pounding cadence that fills the club. But before he can repeat himself, the guy pulls him closer, lips brushing his earlobe, and replies, “I know. I've seen you here before. Kinney...Brian Kinney." The exhaled air tickles his earlobe and heated arousal flairs in Jensen’s groin.  
  
"We haven't met before though, have we? I'm usually pretty good at remembering people."  
  
Actually, Jensen isn't just good at remembering people, he never forgets a name or a face. Never. And he knows he hasn't met Brian before. So how does Brian know who he is?  
  
"No, we haven't met. Let's just say, I liked what I saw and I asked around." The hand Brian has on his back drops a little lower, fingers dipping inside the waistband of his jeans.  
  
No, not shy at all.  
  
Jensen grins, "Smooth," he says, and Brian's smirk gets a tiny bit bigger.  
  
The song ends on a percussion solo and the next one begins, the tempo so fast that it's impossible to dance to and everyone simply begins to jump in time to the pulsing beat, bumping into each other as though they're in a mosh pit. Brain juts his chin toward the bar and raises an eyebrow in question. Jensen nods, not even trying to talk over the din.  
  
Desire ripples through him as Brian grabs his wrist and pulls him off the dance floor toward the bar. Assertive, possessive, demanding. Tonight is shaping up to be very promising.  
  
"What's your poison?" Brian shouts. Even by the bar, away from most of the speakers, it's still hard to be heard.  
  
"Whatever you're having." Jensen doesn't have any strong preferences as far as alcohol goes. It's all the same to him and he can take it or leave it. He doesn't come here to get drunk.  
  
As Brian waves down a bartender, Jensen turns around and reclines against the polished wood, elbows behind him to prop himself up, legs crossed at the ankles. Strobe lights begin to flash overhead, adding to the chaos on the dance floor. He revels in the noise, the shouts, the laughter. It settles him, makes him feel normal, like he’s in control. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long, contented exhale.  
  
Brian presses a drink, something golden brown over ice, into his hand. Jensen wraps his fingers around the glass, brings it to his lips and swallows it down, all the while looking deeply into Brian's eyes. The alcohol - whiskey - burns a path to his belly where it gutters as though it's sitting over a low flame. Brian licks his full lips, mouths the word 'fuck' before quickly downing his own drink and slamming the empty glass on the bar counter.  
  
There's no time for Jensen to enjoy the effect he's having on the man because Brian once again grabs his wrist and hustles him away from the bar toward the back room as though the fate of the world rests on him getting Jensen out of his pants as quickly as possible. Oh yes, this is going to be good. This is going to be fucking perfect.  
  
It's at that moment, when Jensen is on the verge of getting exactly what he needs, that something catches his eye, a flash of someone familiar, someone...no, that's impossible.  
  
Jensen comes to an abrupt halt while Brian, unaware, continues striding forward with Jensen's wrist held in a tight grip. The stab of pain as his shoulder takes the brunt of the jolt goes unheeded by Jensen.  
  
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, wrenching his arm out of Brian's grasp. "There's someone...I have to check on something. I'm sorry."  
  
Brian's expression darkens, mouth a tight, irritated line. He visibly forces a casual, disinterested look on his face. "Your loss," he says with a shrug Jensen barely sees because he's already turning around, gaze darting away to scan the cluster of people on the opposite side of the bar.  
  
Somewhere over there...he thinks he saw...there!  
  
Through the strobing, flickering light, through the smoke and the haze, he sees it again, the oh so familiar shape, the tall frame, the broad back tapering to the slender waist, legs that go on forever. Jesus, he looks just the way Jensen has always dreamed he would look all grown up. A man, he's a man now, no longer the teenager from Jensen's past. A full-grown man.  
  
Despite the whiskey from only moments ago, Jensen's mouth goes bone dry, his tongue stuck to the roof as if glued there. He takes one step forward and then another and another, slow, stilted steps. He feels like he's sleepwalking, lost in a wretched dream where the more he walks the further away his goal gets.  
  
Except that he's suddenly standing right in front of him.  
  
The man has his back to Jensen, talking to a small, brunette woman. Hesitantly, Jensen puts out one hand, fingers tingling, and taps him on the shoulder. "'Scuse me." He can barely get the words out through the tightness in his chest. "Jare-"  
  
Heavy-lidded eyes are looking back at him and they're wrong. They're all wrong. Not the right shape or the right color or the right anything.   
  
"Yeah?" the man says, cocking his head and looking Jensen up and down appraisingly. "You want something?"  
  
Jensen stumbles back a step, disappointment and confusion crashing into him. _What the Hell? What had he been thinking? Stupid. So incredibly stupid to get himself all worked up over something that's more likely to happen in a poorly scripted rom-com than in his fucked-up life._  
  
"No man, sorry. My bad. I thought...um, I thought..." He shakes his head. A burst of self-deprecating laughter gets out before he can stop it. "Never mind." Still shaking his head, Jensen turns around, leaving the guy and his girlfriend to get back to whatever they were doing or about to do.  
  
Rarely has Jensen felt this naive and gullible. He's usually much more realistic than this, much more levelheaded. He knows the difference between reality and fantasy. He knows the truth about what's out there and, although there's a lot of really weird shit in this world, it's only the evil fairy tales that come to life, not the sweet, lovey-dovey ones. Life doesn't hold any happy endings. Not for him anyway.  
  
Jensen scrubs a hand down his face, knuckles at his eyes. The tingling in his fingers has turned into a crawling sensation, like there are ants under his skin. The whiskey in his belly has turned sour. He wants his good mood back, wants to be back where he was before he saw...whatever. He just wants to get laid.  
  
Brian isn't at the bar anymore. Jensen lets his gaze roam the club until he finds him. But it's too late. Brian's already found someone else, a twinky looking kid, young with blond, spiked-up hair and pouty lips. The two of them are wrapped around each other on the dance floor and the kid is looking at Brian as though he’s the moon and the stars.  
  
It's just as well. Jensen's good mood has left the building and it's not coming back anytime soon. Might as well go home and wait out the rest of the night in front of the TV.  
  
***~~~***~~~***  
  
When he gets the sturdy, wooden door of their house open, he finds Felicia on the couch wearing her Tinkerbell pajamas, something that looks suspiciously like a Lifetime Channel movie playing on the flat screen. She twists around to look at him, head cradled in her arms where she rests them on the back of the couch, expression fond and sleepy.  
  
"Hey Tigger," she says, invoking the nickname she'd given him because of his seemingly boundless energy. "You’re back early. Did you have fun?"  
  
It's not hard to tell she's been waiting up for him, that she's worried about him. On some intuitive level, she has probably guessed what some of his issues are. As hard as Jensen tries to hide how much of a freak he is, he knows it's unlikely he's been completely successful. After all, they've been friends for four years now, lived in the same house for three of those years, shared each other's space, and she's crazy smart. Her job at NASA proves just how smart. The way she looks at him sometimes makes him feel like a bug under a microscope.  
  
Jensen toes off his shoes by the door. "Yeah, I had a good time. How come you're not in bed? Thought you were too tired to hang, work in the morning and all that crap."  
  
"Eh, all I have to do is finish debugging that landing program for NASA tomorrow. When have I ever needed a full night's sleep to do that?" Her red pony tail swishes as she gives an indignant toss of her head. "Besides, all the really great movies come on after 2 o'clock in the morning."  
  
"Right," he drawls. "Whatever you say."  
  
"How about you? Gonna call it a night?"  
  
"Nah, I was thinking I might veg out in front of the TV myself. Haven't reached my quota of mindless entertainment this week yet. You mind some company?" he asks, hopeful that he's managed to sound casual and not desperate. The last thing he wants is to guilt his friend into spending time with him, even though the prospect of spending yet another night awake and alone is more than a little daunting.  
  
Felicia doesn't say anything, just cocks her head in a _get-over-here-you-imbecile_ way and pats the cushion beside her.  
  
Padding over on stocking feet, Jensen happily takes her up on her offer and makes himself comfortable on the couch, close enough that their shoulders are brushing, or her shoulder is brushing up against his arm anyway. The pipsqueak. Never mind the fact that the couch is easily large enough to fit four people and there's no reason for the two of them to be cuddled up together at one side, leaving the other half empty.  
  
Felicia drapes half of her blanket over his lap so that the two of them are sharing body heat as well as space.  
  
The flat screen takes up a good portion of the wall. It's AJ's prized possession and one of the few pieces of furniture he'd contributed to the household when he moved in. On the screen, a young Leonardo DiCaprio dribbles a basketball down court to the shouts of his coach and teammates. The frenetic movement is hypnotizing. The basketball goes up and down, the players run back and forth, the camera pans in for a close up and returns to a wide-angle shot. As Jensen watches, the picture begins to slip in and out of focus, colors bleeding together, faces becoming indistinguishable blobs.  
  
He reaches up and digs the heel of his palm into first one gritty eye and then the other. He gets a head rush all of a sudden, exhaustion coming from out of nowhere to flatten him like an angry bull.  
  
This is what he gets for slowing down. If he keeps moving, keeps active, keeps going, going, going, he can stay ahead of his need for sleep. Now though, all the sleepless nights have caught up with him in one fell swoop. His shoulder aches from the dancing and his stint at the drums earlier. The room starts spinning. Each time he blinks, it's a struggle to force his eyes open again.  
  
He's just so goddamn tired. But he has to get up, get moving, outrun this insidious exhaustion before it has the chance to pull him in and put him under.  
  
As though she can read his mind, Felicia shifts closer, puts her arm around his shoulders and begins carding her fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck in a soothing, mesmerizing manner.  
  
Totally unfair. How's he supposed to get up now?  
  
Then again, maybe with Felicia here it'll be okay to relax. Just for a few minutes. Just until he's not so dizzy. His head lolls to the side and he knows his eyes have slipped shut. He’s not quite asleep, but it feels like he’s been wrapped in a silk cocoon. The lassitude is so all-consuming that he can’t move, trapped in the trance-like state between being awake and being unconscious.  
  
The volume on the TV gets softer and he hears footsteps coming down the stairs.  
  
“Shhhh,” Felicia whispers.  
  
“You got’im to fall asleep,” Ty’s husky Louisiana drawl seems to float over him. “I’m impressed. How long’s it been since he got any real sleep?”  
  
“Hard to tell, but his bedroom’s right next to mine, so I can hear him in there, walking around, pacing back and forth all hours of the night. And that’s when he comes home at all.”  
  
“Yeah, something’s wrong. Something happened to him, makes him...I don’t know, but I wish he’d talk to us. Let us help him. Or if not us, someone.”  
  
“He won’t. I’ve tried. He’s been like this for as long as I’ve known him and all I can figure out is that something from his past is chasing him, something that he refuses to talk about. It’s slowly devouring him from the inside. This is the best I can do for him, get him to stop long enough that he falls asleep every once in a while.” Small, delicate fingers continue their gentle massage on the back of his neck.  
  
The next thing Ty says is quieter and the words are indistinct. “Maybe...intervention...insomnia...”  
  
Voices continue, muffled, muted, until there’s nothing, nothing except oily darkness.


	2. So Fantasy Free Me

**Then**  
  
The second time his mom yells up the stairs that he's going to miss the bus if he doesn't get a move on, Jensen grumbles sleepily and stumbles out of bed. He hates mornings. Downstairs, he can hear his little sister’s chipper voice, probably telling mom about what her many friends are up to and which ones are in the same classes with her this year. She's been on the phone with her BFFs for the past week, class schedule in hand. Jensen shakes his head as he shuffles into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a shower.   
  
He only knows one person who will be in his classes this year, but that doesn't bother him. Most of his friends are starting at Indian River High School today while he's beginning the Science and Medical Academy at Deep Creek High. The program is tough to get into and nobody else he knows passed the entrance exam except Osric. They only take a few kids from each district in the city of Austin. It's okay though because everyone in the Academy will be in the same boat, leaving middle school friends behind and making new friends in high school while getting a head start on their medical education. Also, Jensen is planning to try out for the football team which is a good way to meet people and, besides, he's never been the kind of person who feels the need to be popular. One or two close friends and he's good.  
  
After his shower, he dresses in a short-sleeve navy Henley and khakis. He completes his signature look with a grey fedora tilted at just the right angle. There's a pretty decent chance that he'll be the only one at his new school wearing a fedora and that's perfectly fine with him. In fact, he'll be a bit disappointed if some other kid is sporting his style because he doesn't want it to look like he's copying anyone else.  
  
"Nice," his mother beams at him when he comes downstairs and pulls him into a tight mom-hug. "You look so handsome."  
  
Jensen rolls his eyes and gives her a half-smile. His mom can be a little overenthusiastic sometimes and Jensen prefers to be understated. He's a guy, after all, and guys don't gush about stuff, especially not about how they look.  
  
Mackenzie makes a grab for his hat, but he easily dodges out of the way. His little sister is predictable, and Jensen knows all her moves, has a counter for each and every one of them.  
  
"Jerk," she pouts. "I just want to look at it."  
  
"Look with your eyes, not with your hands."   
  
Breakfast is a Pop Tart and orange juice. It's all he has time for before he's slinging on his backpack and heading out the door. The bus to Deep Creek comes early since they have to trek all over Austin to pick up the other kids in the program.  
  
It’s already muggy outside and Jensen’s glad he remembered his deodorant this morning. Late Summer, early Fall in Texas means temperatures that can easily reach triple digits by afternoon most days. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long in the heat before the bus comes.  
  
Osric is already there, sitting toward the back, his nose in some thick, hardcover book that looks like it could be a medical text. Not surprising, Jensen thinks as he makes his way to the seat next to him.  
  
Looking up, Osric grins. "Hey Ackles."  
  
"Hey Chau. Whatcha reading?"  
  
Osric's mouth twists into a wry slant, but there's a triumphant gleam in his almond-shaped eyes. "Got my hands on an advanced copy of this year's biology text. I've been reading it all summer."  
  
Jensen huffs out a short bark of laughter. "So typical, man. You're gonna wreck the bell curve for the rest of us." He presses his head against the tall seat back, tilts his hat forward to cover his eyes, ready to nap for the rest of the long ride. "There's more to life than school, ya know? You need to broaden your horizons. Have a little fun."  
  
It's good advice. Some people take life too seriously. Jensen believes in working hard, but playing harder.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, tell that to my parents," Osric mutters.  
  
From behind his hat, Jensen hears the sound of pages turning and assumes the other boy has gone back to his reading.  
  
***~~~***~~~***  
  
The medical program only accepts twenty-five kids each year and those students have all their classes together. First period is homeroom and biology. Jensen and Osric make their way through the teaming hallway where clusters of kids move in groups like migrating herds, upperclassmen easily distinguishable from the freshmen in the easy, cocksure way they navigate the labyrinth of corridors.   
  
Large banners on the walls proclaim this as the HOME OF THE WILDCATS in the school's obnoxious, bright orange and blue colors. And wow, whoever came up with that color combo deserves to be strung up on the flagpole out front. Jensen smirks at the ridiculous posters until he realizes that, if he makes the football team, he'll be wearing those ugly colors himself on a weekly basis.  
  
"Well shit," he says out loud.  
  
"What?" asks Osric.  
  
"S'nothing, just, those colors, man. They're making my eyes bleed."  
  
Osric slows down, looks at the nearest banner for a few seconds before his gaze shifts to a group of cheerleaders talking at the other side of the hall. Their uniforms are electric blue with a large white diamond shape on the front and back that features a snarling, orange wildcat in the middle. "I don't know, they look alright to me," he says as he nearly collides with another student who is similarly distracted.  
  
Jensen rolls his eyes and grabs Osric's arm, steering him out of the way in the nick of time. It's moments like these that he's glad he's gay. At least he doesn't have to worry about drooling all over the floor whenever a cute girl walks by.  
  
The dopey look doesn't leave Osric's face until they've reached their homeroom, Mrs. Darby's classroom according to his schedule. The classroom is already teaming with a raucous bunch of students all jockeying for the prime seats at the back. Osric, being the nerd he is, happily slips into an empty seat right in front of the teacher’s desk. He’s welcome to it, Jensen snorts to himself while he eyes the remaining options. One seat near the wall with a poster of the human heart taped to it looks promising, but before he can get there, a girl with straight, black hair and a pale, thin face claims it. Okay. That leaves the seat next to Osric, also right in front of the teacher - no thanks - or a seat two rows back next to a boy hunched forward over his desk, dark hair falling into his eyes and obscuring his face. Meh...it’ll do.  
  
Once seated, Jensen casually studies his new neighbor without outright staring at him like a creeper. Now that all seats have been picked, they’ll probably be sitting next to each other all year. Might as well find out now if he made the right choice in seating arrangements.   
  
The guy is totally focused on the notebook paper in front of him where a cartoon figure - superhero? Is that a cape? - is coming to life with quick, sure strokes. It’s not bad, not bad at all. In fact, it’s pretty damn good.  
  
The bell to start the period hasn’t rung yet, so Jensen decides to feel the kid out, see if he’s friend material or not. Turning sideways to face him fully, he asks, “Whatcha drawing?” He follows the question with a smile to show he’s not being an asshole.  
  
The dark-haired boy startles slightly as though not expecting anyone to talk to him. A quick assessing glance is thrown Jensen’s way before he ducks his head again. “Um, nothing much, just doodling. Passes the time, you know?” Another glance, longer this time, and a shoulder shrug.  
  
In those couple seconds, Jensen is mesmerized by exotic blue-green eyes, a cleft chin, and an adorable mole next to his nose. Jeez.  
  
“If that’s what you call doodling, I’d hate to hear what you thought of my attempts at artwork. Even my stick figures look like a kindergartner drew them.” Jensen leans back in his plastic chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. “I’m Jensen, by the way.”  
  
“Jared,” the guy says and smiles.  
  
And holy dimples, Batman. What the fuck? Jensen might be just a tiny bit smitten. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand. What had he been thinking earlier about being glad he was gay and not prone to drooling?  
  
The bell chooses that moment to go off and the loud scrape of chairs adjusting on linoleum fills the classroom as twenty-five students all turn to face forward at the same time. Reluctantly, Jensen follows suit. Mrs. Darby begins by writing the class rules on the chalkboard. They’re the same rules he’s heard at the beginning of every year in every class he’s ever been in. Be on time, no cheating, no bullying other students, turn in your homework, blah, blah, blah. Then, she passes out the class syllabus. More lecturing about supplies and points for test grades and assignments. It’s boring and that’s the only reason he spends most of the period trying to see, from his peripheral vision, what Jared is drawing. A cartoon? Comicstrip?  
  
The bell rings and everyone jumps up, bottlenecking at the door as they race off to find their next class. Jensen’s not sure what all the fuss is about. All the freshmen in the Science and Medicine Academy have the same classes. From here, they all go to Honors English and then an elective of their choice followed by lunch, Honors Trig, and lastly, Honors Earth Science. Yes, it’s a school full of geeks, at least the twenty-five attending the Academy can all easily fit into that classification. Although, Jensen doesn’t like labeling himself and tries hard to be his own person.   
  
Of course, there are also other kids going to school at Deep Creek high. In fact, the Academy only makes up a small percentage of the students, so the halls are jam packed with excited teenagers. No need to add to the chaos when, if he only waits a few minutes, the corridors will unclog as if by magic.  
  
Jensen takes his time putting his book and pen in his backpack. Jared seems in no hurry either. Soon, it’s just the two of them left in the classroom.  
  
“Were you on the bus this morning? I don’t remember seeing you.” Jensen says, swinging his backpack over one shoulder.  
  
Jared finishes stuffing the loose paper he was drawing on into a side pocket of his messenger bag, then looks up, shaggy hair still halfway covering his eyes. “No, I uh, my mom, she drove me.”  
  
“Lucky. It probably took you half as long to get to school as it took me. That bus ride takes forever. Which school district you from anyway?” The hall looks less crowded now. Jensen moves toward the door.   
  
Jared stands up and matches his stride. He’s taller than Jensen and that’s saying something, ‘cause Jensen is already almost six feet (and still growing, thank you very much.) “Hickory, how ‘bout you?”  
  
“Greenbrier.”  
  
Looking down at the ground while they walk, Jared says, “Greenbrier’s not that far. How long did it take by bus?” His voice is quiet, hesitant.  
  
“Forty-five minutes,” Jensen mock groans.  
  
Jared’s eyes widen. “Forty-five minutes! Shit man. I didn’t want my mom to drive me to school - sometimes I swear she still thinks I’m in the 3rd grade - but now I’m almost glad.”  
  
Jensen can’t help but laugh. It’s the most he’s heard Jared say at one time, and at almost normal teenage-boy volume too. “Eh, it’s not that bad. I figure I’ll use the bus ride to get my homework done. And next year I’ll have my driver’s license. I can handle the bus for one year.”  
  
They walk along the corridor in silence while Jensen checks the numbers on the doors they pass, making sure they’re heading in the right direction.   
  
“I, uh, I like your hat. It’s different,” Jared says, quiet again.  
  
“Are you calling me different?” Jensen feigns indignation, well aware that to most teenagers ‘different’ is the last thing they want to be. They’re looking to fit in, to belong, to define themselves as part of a larger group. If anyone ever called his sister ‘different’, she’d probably die of shame.  
  
Color pinks Jared’s cheeks and he bows his head. “Sorry,” he mumbles.  
  
Jensen grins and bumps his shoulder into the other boy’s. “Dude, I’m just messing with you. It’s no big. Different’s good. I like different.”  
  
A slow, shy smile brightens Jared’s face. “I like different too.”  
  
Their English classroom has posters of famous writers all over the walls. There’s one of Shakespeare that says “Shakespeare Rocks”. Jensen spots Osric sitting at the front again, talking with the pretty Asian girl sitting next to him. When Osric sees him, he waves and Jensen gives him a thumbs up which makes him nod and smile so big it looks like he just won the lottery.  
  
Most of the seats are already taken, but there are two seats next to each other in the middle of the room. Jared and Jensen head for those two seats automatically, as though it’s a given that they’ll be sitting together from now on.   
  
The teacher, Mr. Marks, hands out copies of Hemingway’s The Pearl and makes them each read a section out loud. Jared’s voice is nearly inaudible when it’s his turn, his ears flaming pink, and the book almost touching his nose so no one can see him, or maybe so he can’t see everyone watching him. Jensen feels bad for him. It must suck to be that shy. Jensen’s never been shy a day in his life. People want to look at him? Let them look. If they want to judge him, they can, he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. The people who matter will see who he truly is and that’s what’s important.  
  
Jared pulls out his drawing and gets back to work once his turn reading out loud is over. Jensen’s going to have to get Jared to teach him how to do that because he’s seriously good at it. His sure, clean strokes make it look effortless.  
  
An interminable amount of time later, the bell finally rings and the students jump up as though each and every one of them has just been stung by a bee. The Pearl is shaping up to be a somewhat depressing story. Why are the books they’re assigned to read in school always such downers anyway?  
  
“What did you pick as your elective?” he asks as he adds The Pearl to the growing stack of books in his backpack. He’s going to have to make a stop at his locker soon.  
  
“Art,” Jared answers. “You?”  
  
“Of course you’re taking art. I should have guessed. I’m taking guitar, always wanted to learn and this is as good a chance as any, right? Actually, it surprised me that they offer guitar class here. It’s good though because, turns out, teaching yourself how to play guitar is hard. My parents bought me one for my birthday last year and I’ve been trying, but I’m kinda terrible.” Laughing at himself, Jensen shrugs. “Okay, I’ll shut up now. I talk too much.”  
  
Jared grins, a full-on grin that makes his eyes gleam and his dimples flash. “I like listening to you talk. You’re like the Energizer Bunny, wind you up and you keep going, and going, and going.”  
  
“Rude,” Jensen replies in his mock offended tone.  
  
Jared just raises an eyebrow at him as he begins gathering his papers together. “True though.”   
  
“Yeah, you have a point. Hey, can I take a look at what you’re drawing before you put it away?”  
  
There’s a beat of silence before Jared answers. “Um, later, okay? It’s not ready for anyone to see yet.” He shuffles his feet uneasily, watching for Jensen’s reaction to his refusal through his long shaggy bangs.  
  
“Sure, man. Whenever you’re ready. I’d really like to see it though. You’ve got talent, I can tell.”  
  
Jared blushes again, quickly shoving the papers into his bag.  
  
Making friends with Jared feels both like the most natural thing in the world and the most challenging at the same time. He’s never met anyone as reserved and shy as Jared before. Bringing Jared out of his shell could take some work, but something tells Jensen it’ll be well worth the effort.


	3. So You Can't See Me

**Now**  
  
 _You’re all alone...nobody cares about you but me...let me in_  
  
Jensen startles awake.  
  
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifts into the room, but it’s not his room. Where is he? His eyes feel like someone has taken sandpaper to them while he slept. Wait, was he asleep?  
  
Digging the palms of his hands into his eyes, he sits up and last night comes flooding back. The club, thinking he saw Jared, coming back home to find Felicia watching a movie on the couch, her fingers massaging his neck, and then...he must have fallen asleep. He must have fallen asleep on the couch in the living room with Felicia there to keep his demons, or really just the one demon, at bay.  
  
The blanket wrapped around his legs falls to the floor as he stands up. She must have covered him when she left. He wonders when she left. If she got any sleep last night herself. A glance at his watch tells him it’s just after six in the morning. Other than his gritty eyes, he feels great, refreshed. His body is used to dealing with little to no sleep, so three full hours, assuming he fell asleep around three o’clock, feels like an amazing surplus of rest and relaxation. He’s energized.  
  
Stretching, he wanders into the kitchen for some of that awesome smelling coffee. Danneel is sitting at the counter, a mug already in front of her along with a toasted bagel thinly smeared with cream cheese. She looks up, smiling, when he makes a grab for her cup.   
  
“Get your own, you big goof,” she says, pulling it possessively towards her chest. “There’s still plenty in the pot.”  
  
He grumbles something about “unfair” and “share and share alike,” even though he knows it makes no sense. She’s the one who made the coffee and she _is_ sharing it with him. In all honesty, he’s just happy to have someone as sweet and caring as Danneel with whom to enjoy his morning obsession. The grumbling is a part of their morning routine, expected and cherished by them both because it’s theirs, the way they show affection for each other.  
  
He met Danneel two and a half years ago while working a case close to home for a change. Another unusual thing about it was that there was nothing unusual about it. An ordinary, run of the mill, blackmail scheme with the target being a low ranking politician in Fairfax, Virginia, a hop and a skip from Alexandria. FBI agents, Jensen and his partner, Misha Collins, had been assigned to the case. Danneel was the politician’s aide and it was her quick thinking that cracked the case wide open by recognizing a certain phrase used in the voice-modulated message the blackmailer left for the politician as a favorite phrase used by one of his staff members. The politician himself - surprise, surprise - had been practically useless.  
  
Danneel is sharp and perceptive and she and Jensen had hit it off immediately. So well in fact that, if he was straight... But he’s not...so they aren’t.  
  
Instead, she’s dating his boss, FBI Director Christian Kane, of all people. Jeez, ‘cause he needs more fucked up shit in his life, apparently.  
  
Cradling his own mug full of elixir, Jensen sits across from Danneel at their cozy kitchen table and lets out a nearly orgasmic groan as the fragrant steam reaches his nose.  
  
“Do you and your coffee need a little alone time, darlin’?” She arches an eyebrow at him suggestively.  
  
Now she even _sounds_ like Kane after he’s had a few beers. He so wishes he didn’t know what his boss sounds like when he’s drunk and horny. Hanging out at the bar with Christian and Danneel, watching his usually stern boss drool all over his hot-as-hell best friend, while amusing as all get out, is not exactly what he would call good for his professional relationship with the man. “Fuck you, _darlin_ ’” he says, but he’s smiling and she chuckles, taking it for the endearment it’s meant to be.  
  
“What’s on your agenda for today? Saving the world from political corruption? Catching some cyber crooks? Oh, I know, how about taking out a mafia drug syndicate?” She pulls one strand of long, auburn hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear. She’s not dressed for work yet and her hair is in unruly waves.  
  
“Nah, nothing that glamourous. Misha and I just finished up a case last week. You wouldn’t believe how much paperwork we gotta fill out. It’s disgusting.” He wrinkles his nose.  
  
“Wait, the case was disgusting? Or the paperwork? Was the case the one with the house-cat accused of murder?” Sipping her coffee, she leans back in her chair, giving him her undivided attention.  
  
“That’s the one,” he confirms. “I told you about it last Friday, remember? And in this instance, it’s the paperwork that’s disgusting, not the case. The cat was actually kinda cute.”  
  
“So, not homicidal, then?”  
  
“Not in the least. It was a case of mistakitten identity.” He flashes her his patented grin, pleased with his own cleverness.  
  
Her eyes roll heavenward in an oh-no-you-didn’t manner. “Why do you always get the wacked-out cases anyway? She asks without commenting on his horrible pun.  
  
“Dunno. You’d have to ask Kane. He’s the one who assigns the caseload.” He swipes her uneaten bagel and takes a huge bite. This time she lets him.  
  
“I have asked him. He won’t tell me,” she pouts.  
  
Jensen sends a little mental thank you to his director for keeping his secret. Truth is, Jensen requests the bizarre cases. No one knows why he wants them except Misha and Kane - Misha because it’s only fair since he gets dragged along into them as well, and Kane because if he didn’t know, Jensen would never get assigned half the “wacked-out” cases he gets. Those two are the only ones he’s fully confided in. And that’s the way Jensen wants it to stay. Freak quota already met, thank you very much.  
  
A board creaks overhead as someone, Ty or AJ, moves around, most likely getting ready for work or school. The house is old and has lots of creaky boards. It’s noisy and Jensen loves noise. It means someone else is in the house and that’s a good thing, a great thing. It means he’s not alone.  
  
Danneel shifts in her chair, puts her elbows on the table, and looks down into her coffee mug. “Jensen, there’s something I have to tell you.” Her voice has gone from light and playful to serious, hesitant.  
  
This doesn’t sound good. Jensen licks his lips. It’s a nervous habit he can’t seem to kick. When she doesn’t continue, he prompts her, “What is it?”  
  
“Christian asked me to move in with him. I said yes.” She looks up then, eyes pleading.  
  
He doesn’t know what to say. Part of him is surprised and another part of him knows it’s inevitable. Eventually, all his friends will move out for one reason or another, move on with their lives, leaving him by himself in this huge house. His carefully crafted family will collapse like a house of cards.  
  
“Jensen, I’m sorry,” Danneel says, taking one of his hands in both of her smaller ones. “Don’t cry. Please.”  
  
Swiping his free hand over his eyes, he realizes they’re wet. “I’m such a wuss.” He huffs a short laugh, looks up and tries for a smile. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. And I’m happy for you, really, I am.”  
  
She gives his hand a squeeze. “Hey, it’s not like we won’t see each other, I’ll still come by to hang out with you all the time.”  
  
Won’t be the same, he thinks, but all he says is, “I know you will. Hell, I bet within a month you’ll be begging to move back in. No, scratch that, I give you a week. Kane’s not exactly the easiest person to get along with.”  
  
She laughs and agrees.  
  
 _Everyone you love leaves you..are you sad enough yet?...give in to me...submit_  
  
Ignoring the voice that only he can hear, Jensen jumps up, gives Danneel an apologetic hug with an excuse about needing to get ready for work, and flees, yes fucking flees, out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into his room. He swears he can feel her eyes on his back the whole way.  
  
Once there, he jams his earbuds in his ears and plays Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now at eardrum-shattering volume. Legs wobbly, he goes to sit on the bed, puts his head in his hands and just lets the music reverberate through him, drowning out everything else. Somehow defiant, angry and jubilant all at the same time, this song never fails to give him strength. To the sound of Freddie Mercury belting out his anthem, Jensen renews his vow to never give up, to find a way to stop the insidious Shadow, the oily, cajoling voice that haunts him, and to send it back to whatever dimension it came from, even if it costs him his own life. Then he does what he does everyday, he pretends he’s normal. He gets ready for work and makes the trek downtown to the FBI headquarters and the office he shares with his partner, Misha.  
  
***~~***~~***~~***  
  
Misha is already there, leaning back in one of their two chairs, feet up on the desk they share, when Jensen arrives. His usual five o’clock shadow seems a bit heavier today, his dark hair a little scruffier, like he’s going for that just-rolled-out-of-bed-and-don’t-give-a-fuck look. He pulls it off well.  
  
“Hey Mish,” Jensen says as he strips off his jacket, slinging it over the other chair.  
  
Misha gives him the once over, blue eyes narrowed in appraisal. “You look like you’ve had a good morning,” he says in an inscrutable tone of voice.  
  
That’s the thing about Misha, you never know how to take him. Is he being serious? Is he being sarcastic? It could be either and there’s no point in asking which it is, because he won’t tell you. Jensen takes stock of himself, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck. It _has_ been a rather unsettling morning what with Danneel’s news. On the other hand, he got some sleep last night which makes him feel almost hyper alert. Not knowing which way to go, he settles for, “Yeah, I guess you could say that. What about you, anything happen since we left work yesterday?”  
  
Misha nods. “Well yes, as a matter of fact, Tony and Maria had a very interesting evening.”  
  
“Tony and Maria, your sea monkeys?”  
  
“Of course, do you know any other Tony and Maria?” Misha looks slightly affronted.  
  
Sea monkeys are a perfectly normal conversation topic for Misha. He got them about two months ago, hatched them from one of those children’s science kits with the pictures of pretend sea creatures on the box, the ones that look like cartoon mermaids and mermen, and every day he has a story about what the sea monkeys have been up to. It’s ridiculous, but he says everything in such a matter-of-fact manner and with so much genuine enthusiasm, it’s hard not to believe him.  
  
Also, it’s best just to humor him. He gets...salty...when challenged. “Um, no. Sorry. What did they do?”  
  
Mollified, Misha begins spinning his tale. “They went on a picnic, only is wasn’t any ordinary picnic. They wanted to explore the furthest reaches of their land, so they packed some provisions and set off. They swam farther than they’d ever gone before and you’ll never believe what they found.” Eyes wide and expectant, he pauses, obviously waiting for Jensen to guess.  
  
From experience Jensen knows how this is going to go, either he takes a guess or Misha will mope for the rest of the day. Been there, done that, doesn’t really want to deal with Misha’s version of the silent treatment again. Trying to think what else might be in the aquarium or tank or wherever the sea monkeys live, he poses, “a fish?”  
  
“No, no, although that would have been terrifying, wouldn’t it? A fish would gobble them up in one bite. They’re quite tiny, you see, so tiny the human eye can barely make them out. The perfect size for a fish snack. No, it wasn’t a fish. It was a massive, well massive to them, abandoned castle. You should have seen how thrilled they were!”  
  
“Mmmhmm, very excited I’m sure,” Jensen delivers the line perfectly, even if he does say so himself, the right amount of interest, a touch of amusement. It’s not hard, he is amused. He enjoys Misha’s eccentricity. Makes him feel a little less crazy.  
  
“Yes, it was the discovery of a lifetime. They’ll be telling their children and grandchildren about it for years to come.” Misha swings his feet off the desk and picks up a white folder. In the folder are the forms they’ll be filling out today. Jensen knows this because he’s the one who placed the file there yesterday. “How do you want to tackle this?” Changing topic seamlessly, Misha brandishes the file.  
  
A slip of paper flutters loose and drifts to the floor. Jensen picks it up. It’s a picture of a cat, blacker than black, so black that its sleek fur seems to take on a bluish sheen where the light hits it just right. Ebony slitted pupils surrounded by golden irises look back at him from the paper. Mysterious and regal, it’s almost understandable why friends and neighbors of twenty-nine year old Vanessa Wall were suspicious of the cat when Vanessa, its owner, died of asphyxiation without any apparent cause, inside a dead bolted apartment. Especially since the apartment was otherwise empty and no one had been seen coming or going. The cat reminds him of himself, an innocent witness to something horrific. Accused, yet innocent and unable to effectively communicate what it had seen.  
  
“Jense?” He hears Misha call his name and the way he says it, insistently but with a careful quality, makes him think it may not be the first time his partner has tried to get his attention.  
  
He gives himself a mental shake, pretending, always pretending, at normalcy. “Let’s divide and conquer. You take the forms dealing with the evidence we found that led to the arrest of our main suspect, Glenn Dix, and I’ll take the forms dealing with the false accusations against our furry friend here.” He taps the picture in his hand.  
  
Misha purses his lips, all at once pensive. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.  
  
Jensen frowns at the concern he sees on his friend’s face, “For what?”  
  
“I know you were hoping to find a lead, something to link this case to your parents’ deaths. I know you’re disappointed that we didn’t find evidence to support your theory about interdimensional creatures.” There’s not a hint of judgement or sarcasm in his voice.  
  
Jensen shrugs, gaze falling to the floor. Despite how bizarre it sounds said out loud, that’s exactly what he’d been hoping and he is disappointed. Ever since watching a monster detach itself from the shadows and finding his parents dead when he was fifteen years old, he’s been trying to make sense of what he saw. The monster was obviously not of this world. His life has been devoted to unraveling the mystery, discovering the truth. Until he does, he’ll never be rid of the voice that seeks to lure him to his own destruction.  
  
A hand grips his upper arm. “Sometimes a cat is just a cat, Jensen.”  
  
“Yeah, well...” The desk phone rings, interrupting Jensen’s response. Just as well, he’s not sure what he was going to say anyway. He grabs the receiver. “Hello, Ackles speaking.”  
  
“Good Morning, Agent Ackles. Director Kane would like to see you and Agent Collins in his office,” says the polite and efficient voice of the Director’s personal assistant.  
  
“We’ll be right there.” Jensen hang up and grabs his jacket.  
  
Misha stands. “What’s the boss want with us so soon?”  
  
“Dunno, let’s go find out.”


	4. No Not at All

**Then**  
  
Jensen’s freshman year goes by in a whirlwind. Classes are challenging, but his grades are decent enough.   
  
He tries out for the football team and makes second string, much to his father’s delight. Once football season heats up, he spends most of each game sitting on the bench in his hideous orange and blue jersey. That’s to be expected though, considering he’s only a freshman. He attends every practice, trains, and works out, and he’s improving. The coaches tell him that come next year, after the seniors graduate, he has a chance at first string. His parents come to every game. They sit in the stands and his mom waves at him, proud as punch that her baby boy is on the team, never mind that he rarely steps foot out onto the field. When the Wildcats score, his dad yells so loudly that Jensen can hear him no matter how far back they’re sitting.  
  
Fall progresses into a mild Texas winter. For Christmas, his parents get him a dirt bike and a leather jacket. He loves both presents dearly. There’s an empty field not too far from his house and it’s perfect for taking her out, opening her up full throttle, just to see how fast she’ll go. Hillocks and depressions in the ground send him airborne from time to time, adding to the exhilaration factor. He has plans to build some ramps and moguls once school’s out.  
  
Spring brings his birthday. On March first that year he turns fifteen. The very next day, he begins pestering his parents to take him to the DMV so he can get his learner’s permit. It doesn’t take much to talk them into it. All he has to do is bring up the bike and they agree it’s a good idea.  
  
Yeah, life is pretty sweet, and woven in and through every part of his life, like an integral thread in a tapestry, is Jared. Without any effort, that introverted boy who had seemed intent on hiding behind his shaggy bangs the first day of Biology class, becomes Jensen’s best friend. They just seem to _get_ each other, intuitively.  
  
Jensen’s grades are good, but Jared’s are better. He’s like Einstein-level intelligent, so friggin’ smart. And compassionate too. Wants to be a veterinarian when he gets out of school. Not only that, but turns out he’s an amazing artist. The day he finally lets Jensen see what he’s been drawing, Jensen is completely blown away. It’s a graphic novel called Supernatural about two brothers named Sam and Dean who drive the backroads of America in their classic ‘67 Chevy Impala, fighting monsters. The story has horror elements and plenty of action, but at its core, it’s a story about the importance of family. Jensen loves it and has made it his mission to convince Jared it’s good enough to have published. All that’s standing in his way is Jared’s lack of self-confidence. They’re still working on that.  
  
As the school year ends and summer approaches, they begin making plans for how they’ll spend all their free time. They both want to get jobs, start earning money towards buying a car. They figure it will take half the time if they both pitch in and buy the car together. Only problem is, Jensen is fifteen and not many places will want to hire him until he turns sixteen, almost a whole year from now. Jared turns sixteen in July so it might be easier for him, but they’re hoping to find someplace that will hire them both.  
  
Jared’s older brother, Jeff, is the one who suggests the Eastside Farmers’ Market. A collection of booths and stalls where local farmers and crafters sell their wares, it’s the perfect place for two strong boys to find work where their employer will be less concerned about their ages and more concerned with how much they can haul and lift. And that’s exactly what happens. They both get hired on by a farmer who is happy to pay them cash under the table from his stall’s sales every day in exchange for their help loading and unloading his produce. Not long after that, other farmers start asking for their help as they build reputations for being hard workers. It’s the ideal gig because basically they decide when they want to work and for how long. As soon as they show up at the market, they have farmers clamoring for their help.   
  
Even with their high demand at the market, they still find plenty of time to goof off. One super hot afternoon in late July, two days before Jared’s birthday, finds them sprawled out in Jensen’s living room, watching The Fog on DVD for the second time. The movie is freaky as hell, but since they’ve seen it before, they’re not paying all that much attention to what’s on screen. Jensen is sitting lengthwise on the couch, his feet in Jared’s lap, playing a game on his Nintendo DS. Jared has one hand resting on Jensen’s ankles. They’ve taken to sitting like that more often than not. It’s just a comfort thing, nothing more.  
  
Jared has the artist’s sketch pad he got for Christmas propped up on the sofa arm and is drawing a page for his graphic novel. Looks like the two brothers sitting in their black muscle car, parked by the side of the road, word bubbles over their heads, from what Jensen can see.  
  
Jensen’s mom pokes her head around the corner from the kitchen. “You boys getting hungry? I could bring you some snacks. We have fried chicken left over from dinner last night.”  
  
Jensen looks up from his game, cocks his head at Jared and raises one eyebrow. Jared gives a sheepish smile and nods even though they just ate a big bowl of ice cream each at the farmers market after they finished laying out flats of flowers for Farmer Solis. “That would be great mom, thanks,” he says, using the heel of his foot to nudge Jared’s stomach. That boy is always hungry.  
  
Laughing, Jared pushes Jensen’s feet off his lap. “Cut it out, jerk.”  
  
“What? You’re a bottomless pit. I was just trying to figure out where you put it all.”  
  
“A growing boy’s gotta eat.” Jared flexes and stretches his arms over his head, much less shy now that Jensen’s mom has gone back to the kitchen. A little strip of Jared’s tanned hip is revealed where his shirt rides up and Jensen can’t help taking a peek. They see each other with their shirts off all the time when they’re working outside in the hot sun. This is different somehow though, this tantalizing glimpse seems forbidden and that much more enticing because of it. Not that he’s perving on his best friend. Well, at least not in a bad way.  
  
His mom returns, bearing a platter of fried chicken. “Here you go,” she beams at them.  
  
“Um, thanks Mrs. Ackles,” Jared says.  
  
“Yeah, thanks Mom. You’re awesome.” Jensen grabs a thigh and sinks his teeth through the crispy coating and right into the meat. Chicken juice runs down his chin. His mom makes the best fried chicken in the whole world.  
  
Both his mom and Jared are looking at him, his mom in feigned dismay, but Jared is staring at his mouth with what looks like amazement. Jensen licks the juice from his lips and grins.   
  
His mother shakes her head, muttering “boys” on her way back to the kitchen.  
  
Jared shakes his head, bites into his own piece of chicken and, mouth full, says, “What’d you want to do tomorrow? It’s supposed to be nice out, not as hot as today, and we don’t hafta work.”  
  
“I was thinking we could take the bike to the field. The ramp’s ready. Wanna see how much air we can get.” They’d built the ramp out of wood scavenged from crates and palettes no longer being used at the farmers market. Last time they were out at the field, they finished building it, but it was too dark to ride the dirt bike over it. Jensen is a bit of a daredevil, but he’s not stupid enough to try a stunt like that in the dark.  
  
“Cool,” Jared nods. Jared’s parents won’t let him have a dirt bike. They say it’s too dangerous. They know Jensen has one and they don’t approve, they don’t want Jared riding it. Jared rides it anyway, he just doesn’t tell them.  
  
Jared’s mom is one of those ultra-protective helicopter moms. She doesn’t like him doing anything even remotely dangerous and she treats him like he’s in grade school. Even now that he’s almost sixteen, she still picks out his clothes every morning and packs his lunch for school. It’s sweet in a way, but come on...there’s a world of difference between six years old and sixteen. And that reminds him, “Hey Jared, what’re you doing for your birthday?”  
  
“Mom and Dad usually take me out for dinner on my birthday, other than that, nothing. Why?”  
  
“Do ya think they’d give you an extension on your curfew? You know, since it’s your sweet sixteen and all, like maybe until after midnight? One o’clock at the latest?”  
  
“Maybe...” Jared finishes off the drumstick he’s been working on, licks his fingers, and looks at Jensen, head cocked to the side, floppy hair falling in his eyes. He looks like a confused puppy. “What’s going on?”  
  
“I wanna take you someplace for your birthday. It’s a surprise.” At Jared’s continued stare, Jensen rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it. It’ll be fun.”  
  
“Yeah, okay. I’ll ask.”   
  
Fog rolls across the television screen, ominous and sinister, an omen of the bad things about to happen to the poor people on Antonio Island. Jensen takes another bite of chicken, chewing happily as Elizabeth and Nick try to solve the mystery of the fog and save their friends.   
  
He’s looking forward to Jared’s surprise birthday gift, has had it planned for a while now, and has already talked Jared’s big brother Jeff into dropping them off and picking them up when it’s over. They’re going to see Rocky Horror Picture Show at the old Cineplex. Jensen went last year with a bunch of friends, but he doesn’t think Jared’s ever been. It’ll be great.  
  
The plate of chicken is nearly empty, and the movie is over when Jared’s phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and flips it open. A short conversation later and he turns to Jensen. “That was my mom. She wants me to come home. Dad will be here soon to get me.”  
  
Jared’s mom has realized she has to make him come home if she wants to see her son at all these days, so they’re used to these phone calls. Left to his own devices, Jared would spend all his spare time at the Ackles’ house. The way Jared tells it, his house is more of a museum than a home, everything pristine and nothing out of place. Their couches are not meant for lounging around, eating fried chicken, they’re meant for sitting daintily and drinking tea.   
  
Plus, there’s the little fact that Jared’s mom doesn’t seem to like Jensen very much. Jensen doesn’t know why, but whenever they try to hang out at Jared’s house, Mrs. Padalecki gets progressively more and more snippy until Jensen can’t take it anymore and leaves. Jared says she’s like that with everyone. Whether that’s true or not, it’s just easier for them to be at the Ackles house when they have nothing else to do.  
  
Jared huffs as he gathers up his sketch pad and puts on his shoes. “Two more days and I can get my driver’s license. I can’t wait.”  
  
“Yeah, and we’ll be able to afford a car soon. I bet we have enough saved up by the end of the summer.”  
  
Both boys grin, thinking of the freedom having a car will bring.  
  
***~~***~~***~~***  
  
Jensen counts himself lucky to have such a perfect place to run his bike within easy distance of his house. The field hasn’t been used to grow crops the last couple years. Yellowed patches of grass and stalks dot the hard, dry ground. Whoever owns it must be letting it rest fallow. Either that or they’re getting it ready for some other use. Whatever the reason, no one has kicked him off it yet and he’s taking that as permission.  
  
His dirt bike gleams in the early morning sun. She’s exquisite and Jensen prides himself on taking very good care of her. Sure, he rides her rough at times, puts her in some damn difficult situations and expects her to perform, but afterwards, he washes and dries her, inspects and lubricates the chain, and pampers her like the spirited lady she is.  
  
The morning is already warm, not a cloud in the sky. He takes off his leather jacket. The black tank he’s wearing underneath won’t be much protection if he wipes out, that’s why he doesn’t plan on wiping out. Since Jared’s not here yet, Jensen decides to put his bike through her paces, get warmed up and ready for the main event, the six foot high ramp. That’ll come later, once Jared gets here. He wouldn’t dream of trying it without him. They built it together, Jared should be here the first time the bike sails over it.  
  
Helmet on his head, Jensen flexes his gloved fingers, stretching the leather to make sure his grip on the handlebars is secure. The engine revs, power building between his legs, and then he’s off like a rocket, hot wind in his face, scrub grass getting torn up under his wheels. He makes a couple laps around the open field before Jared pedals up on his bicycle.  
  
Coming to a stop in front of his friend, Jensen removes his helmet, runs a hand through his sweaty hair where it’s stuck to his head. “No one around to drive you?”  
  
“Nah, everyone was busy this morning. It’s no big.”  
  
Biking has become their only dependable means of transportation this summer and they’ve both become experts at it what with needing a way to the farmers market most days. They can’t always count on getting rides from family members. On the bright side, Jensen’s muscles are getting a better workout than when he was in training for football.  
  
“You tried it out yet?” Jared asks, nodding at the ramp.  
  
“Was waiting for you. You want first shot?” Jensen holds the helmet out to Jared.  
  
Shaking his head, Jared gets off his bicycle, kicking down the stand before gracelessly throwing himself on the ground. He rolls onto his back, long coltish legs falling apart, and puts his hands under his head, eyes closed. “Need a minute to catch my breath. You go ahead.”  
  
Of its own accord, Jensen’s gaze flicks to Jared’s crotch, then away just as quickly. Jeez, cut it out Ackles, he chastises himself. Out loud he says, “Ok Lance Armstrong, you rest up from your long trek, I’m gonna see what m’baby can do.” Helmet back on, he revs the engine a couple times just for fun and peels off.  
  
He takes the long way around the field so he can line up with the ramp better. His heart starts thumping harder, adrenaline building. He’s taken jumps before, but nothing this high. Revving the engine again, he picks up speed, faster, faster. The bike roars beneath him, ferocious and proud, sure of herself. Straight ahead, like a sleeping dragon, lies the ramp. This is going to be epic.   
  
At the critical moment, Jensen looks over to make sure Jared’s watching. He is and that makes him feel...invincible, indestructible, like he’s Sam or Dean going up against a wendigo. When he returns his attention forward again to the ramp, it’s closer than he thought it would be. Is he going fast enough? It’s too late to stop, too late to get more speed. The bike’s wheels skew slightly in a rocky patch right before they hit the ramp. He guns the engine as he rushes up, up, up, airborne. For several breathless seconds he’s weightless. Then, gravity kicks back in. The ground rushes toward him in a blur of brown and yellow.   
  
The bike is canted to the side and try as he might he can’t get it straightened out. Somehow, as fast as he’s going, time slows and he has time to think. If he stays the way he is, when he lands, the bike is going to crush his leg. So, he let’s go of the handlebars midair and lets the bike careen away from him.  
  
He lands on his back and rolls. His vision whites out, all the air gets punched out of his body and none returns. Dazed, he lies there and waits for his lungs to start working again. They don’t. Air, he needs air. He struggles to sit up, panicking. He wants the helmet off, now! If he gets the helmet off, he might be able to breathe. Black spots begin floating in front of his eyes and he can’t get the helmet off. Shit!  
  
“Jen! Jesus Christ, Jensen! Are you alright? Don’t move. I’ve got ya.” Jared is suddenly there, gently removing the helmet, and Jensen latches onto him, grabs two fistfuls of his shirt and holds on for dear life. Air slowly trickles down his throat. He gasps in, greedy for more. “There you go, relax and breathe. You got this.” Jared’s arms close around him loosely, providing support while still giving him plenty of room to draw in huge lungfuls of sweet, sweet air.  
  
Sagging in relief, Jensen’s head falls to Jared’s shoulder. He looks up to see his friend’s concerned blue-green eyes boring into him, face so close he can smell the cinnamon toast and orange juice he must have had for breakfast and his minty toothpaste. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He takes another gulp of air. “Just got the wind knocked out of me, s’all,” he assures, but he makes no effort to move, still too shaken.  
  
Jared holds him closer, whispers, “Oh thank God, you scared the crap out of me, dude. I thought you broke your neck for sure.”  
  
Jensen can’t think of anything to say to that. All he can think about are Jared’s lips which are mere inches away. It would take only the smallest movement and their lips would touch, nothing more than a slight shift forward and...  
  
Jared releases him, cheeks gone pick like they get when he’s embarrassed about something. “You sure you’re okay? Maybe you should lie down. Does your head hurt? Your neck? I don’t think you’re supposed to move after a fall like that.”  
  
Disappointed in himself, in his feelings for his best friend which are obviously not returned, Jensen sighs and shakes off Jared’s lightly restraining hand. “My neck’s not broken, Jare. I’m fine.”  
  
“Jen, wait...”  
  
“Just help me up, ‘kay?” Jensen takes the hand Jared extends to him and gets slowly to his feet. “Where’s my bike? Did you see where it landed?”  
  
“It’s over there.” Jared’s voice sounds mournful, making Jensen’s stomach clench. If his bike is yard sale fodder, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.  
  
Following the direction Jared is pointing, he sees her, lying on her side, dust dulled and forlorn. “Oh no, look at you. Are you hurt, baby?” he croons to the bike as he sets her upright, running his hands over the metal, checking for dents or scratches. The ones he finds are superficial, with a little TLC he can have her buffed up and looking good as new. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I can fix you right up.”  
  
Jared starts laughing his ass off.  
  
“What’s so funny?” Jensen asks, honestly baffled by what his friend could possibly find so humorous.  
  
“Nothing,” Jared chuckles again. “S’just the way you talk to that bike. Like it’s your best girl. I don’t know why but it seems like something Dean would do, you know? You mind if I use that for my book? Have Dean treat his car like she has feelings, call her ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ like you do your bike?”  
  
Jensen scoffs. “‘Course she has feelings. Dean’s car is a classic. She’s a lady through and through, you can see it in her sleek lines. And he’s had that car forever, right? She’s family.”  
  
Jared nods. “Yeah, I think so too. And it’s true, she is family.” His expression gets serious. “What about you, you’ve got scrapes all over your arms. We should go home and get you cleaned up.”  
  
Jensen looks himself over and is surprised to see that Jared isn’t being overly dramatic. Without his protective leather jacket, he’s amassed a slew of scrapes on his arms and a particularly nasty looking gash on his side where he must have come in contact with a rock or stick when he rolled. High adrenaline levels kept him from feeling any pain until now. But now that he knows they’re there, they sting like a sonofabitch. Still, he shakes his head. “No, I can’t leave it like this, I won’t let it beat me. We’re better than that. We can do it.” He pats his bike, knowing she wants another go at it as well.  
  
“You can’t be serious. You’re not planning to try again. Not _now_.”  
  
His mother likes to tell him that he’s the most stubborn person she knows. Guess he’s about to prove her right. “I have to Jare. If I don’t do it now, it’ll eat me up until I get another chance and who knows when that’ll be. It’s gotta be now.” As he speaks, he mounts his bike and kickstarts it, encouraged when the engine catches and growls to life on the first try. She’s definitely up for this.   
  
“Be careful.” Jared reaches over and puts a hand on his neck, squeezes like he’s hoping to impart some deeper meaning, then hands him his helmet. Worry knots Jared’s brow, giving him a stern expression.  
  
Jensen thinks to brush off Jared’s worry, call him ‘mom’ or ‘a girl’ for expressing his concern so openly. If it was Jared doing something he considered reckless though, he’d be just as concerned, so he doesn’t tease. Instead he says, “I will, promise.”  
  
Taking a detour to retrieve and don his jacket, he completes a circuit and lines up with the ramp. This time he approaches his mission differently. This time he’s all concentration, lets his consciousness expand, noting wind direction and strength, scanning the ground for rocks or loose dirt that may hamper his direction and speed. Course mapped out in his head, he becomes laser focused, aware of only the bike rumbling beneath him and his adversary, the ramp. Those two things are the only ones that matter. The bike gives a throaty snarl and vibrations surge up his calves and thighs. He feels like the bike is part of him, an extension of his own body.  
  
He accelerates. The distance to the ramp diminishes, chewed up under his wheels. His vision tunnels until the only thing he sees is the ramp, getting closer and closer. One goal. One purpose. He hits the ramp at a perfect velocity. The bike’s wheels are straight and true. Everything comes together flawlessly and, as he sails through the air, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that his determination has paid off. He knows he’s nailed it.  
  
Jared rushes up to him, whooping and hollering like a man possessed. Jensen brings his bike to a stop and jumps off just before Jared grabs him up in an enthusiastic hug.  
  
“Victory,” Jared yells in his ear.  
  
Jensen laughs, joy and adrenaline bleeding off him. The hug is everything he wants and not nearly enough. It’s a friendly hug, a brotherly hug. Jensen wishes for more even as he’s thrilled to his core with what he’s got. He has Jared as his best friend. What more could he ask for? Nothing. And everything.


	5. In Another Dimension

**Now**  
  
Kane’s office is located one floor up in a complex of rooms that contains many FBI bureaucrats and their personal assistants. AD Kane’s assistant, Briana Buckmaster, a capable blond woman who looks like she would be just as comfortable working a case out in the field as behind a desk, smiles when he and Misha walk through the door.  
  
“You can go right in. He’s waiting for you,” she says.  
  
Kane is standing at his floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed, watching the traffic flow by on the busy street below. He turns as they enter, trademark scowl firmly in place. “I have a new case for you.” As usual, his tone is clipped and commanding. Only a fool would argue with him. Well, either a fool or Misha Collins.  
  
“But we’re still wrapping up the Vanessa Wall case. Our suspect is being held by local law enforcement pending a hearing. It wasn’t the cat; in case you were wondering. Also, there is a mountain of paperwork to fill out. Another case so soon seems premature.” Misha lays out his facts calmly, head tilted to the side.  
  
Kane’s eyes narrow as he takes a step forward to rest his hand on a file lying on his desk. “Premature or not, I think you’ll want this one. Two dead, Mr. and Mrs. Tomas, found in their suburban home. Cause of death: asphyxiation. Method: undetermined. Local police are stumped.” He looks over at Jensen, steely gaze unwavering. “It fits the pattern.”  
  
Jensen’s heart skips a beat and then races as though trying to make up for the temporarily lost blood flow. “Can I see?” he asks, holding out his hand for the file.  
  
Kane doesn’t answer, just gives the file a push closer to him.  
  
Sweeping the slender file up, Jensen starts leafing through the meager contents - crime scene photos, transcripts from interviews with neighbors who saw nothing unusual, the coroner’s report. He’s looking for one thing in particular, one piece of evidence that will link these deaths to the deaths of his parents.  
  
He can feel two sets of blue eyes watching him, one set stormy and brooding, the other concerned and wary. They both know what he’s looking for. The one thing that will give him hope and fuel his desire for...what? Closure? Revenge? Peace? Sanity? All of the above? He strives to hold himself together, remain cool and collected. Christian wouldn’t have called them in here like this if he hadn’t already seen what Jensen is looking for. It’s here, he just has to find it for himself, pick it out from the random collection of facts and conjecture.  
  
And...There!  
  
His expression must change, betray his emotions despite his effort at masking them, because Kane says, “You found it,” with a curt nod of his head.  
  
“Found what?” asks Misha, caution making his words come out deadpan.  
  
Jensen flicks the lab report he’s looking at with his thumb and middle finger. “Here, look.” He holds the report out for his partner to read, unable to speak further for fear of the tremor he knows will rend his voice.   
  
Misha takes the page, eyes scanning it quickly. “Substance of unknown origin found at the crime scene,” he reads out loud. “Description of substance: Black, viscous fluid, greasy in texture with adhesive qualities.”  
  
The words spawn a flashback - _black goo stuck to his arm, on his mother’s nose, around his father’s mouth_ \- and the effort to suppress it makes him dizzy. He gropes for the nearest chair and finds it a second before his legs give out.  
  
A forceful hand pushes his head down. “Put your head between your legs. Breathe. Don’t pass out on me, Ackles,” Kane says.  
  
The dizziness passes as quickly as it came. Jensen shakes off his boss’ hand. “I’m fine,” he rasps.  
  
Misha presses a bottle of water into his hand. Where he got it from, Jensen doesn’t know, doesn’t care. Twisting off the cap, he swallows several mouthfuls in rapid succession. His hands are shaking and he needs his music, needs to blast it straight into his brain, mainline it like heroin.  
  
 _Such a pretty boy...you shine so bright...want you_  
  
Jensen jumps up. “Can we...when can we go?” He doesn’t even know where the deaths took place, where they’ll be going. It doesn’t matter.  
  
“I’ll have Ms. Buckmaster book your flights for first thing in the morning. Go back to your office, finish your paperwork, then go home and pack. And get some sleep, idiot.” Kane puts a hand on his shoulder propelling him out of the office. To a casual observer, it probably looks like Kane is an uncaring bastard, but Jensen feels the unspoken friendship coming through the contact.  
  
Misha’s footsteps behind him hesitate and he hears Kane’s grumbled baritone saying, “Take care of him Collins. He’s the best agent I’ve got.”  
  
***~~***~~***~~***  
  
Dusk shrouds his house in a soft, ambient glow by the time he gets home that evening. Cars line the street in front, a total of four, leaving the driveway free for him. All four of his housemates must already be home. It’s somewhat unusual for all five of them to be here this early on a workday. Ty’s job as a nurse and his erratic schedule at the hospital don’t allow for much leisure time. Then there’s AJ the perpetual student who is still taking graduate classes at Howard University during the day and moonlighting as a bartender at a trendy restaurant at night. Felicia works out of the NASA headquarters in Washington D.C. as an independent IT contractor. Her schedule varies on a project by project basis. Danneel is the only one of them with normal nine to five hours.  
  
Toeing off his shoes, Jensen pads toward the living room where he hears talking. Conversation stops as four sets of eyes turn to regard him at the same time. Felicia, Ty and Danneel are all siting on the large sectional couch. AJ is perched on a chair he must have dragged in from the kitchen dining area. First to recover from the awkward silence, Ty says, “I’m glad you’re home. Do you have a minute?”  
  
Jensen takes a guarded step further into the room, suspiciously looking at each of his friends. If he had to label their current expressions, he’d say Felicia looks guilty, Danneel anxious, Ty seems resolves and AJ bored. “I guess so. What’s this about? What are you guys up to?” Usually, he’d be happy to have them all here. More people mean more commotion, and more commotion means more diversions, which all adds up to peace and serenity in Jensen’s screwed-up head. Unfortunately, this doesn’t look like a fun time. In fact, the way they’re sitting there, staring at him makes it look like...oh hell no!  
  
Jensen turns around and storms back to the front door. As he tries to get his shoes on, Ty catches up to him, blocking his path. The burly man is faster than his size would let on. “Please brother, hear us out,” he pleads. “We just wanna talk to you. We’re worried about you is all.”  
  
“An intervention? You guys are seriously staging an intervention? What the ever-loving-fuck, man?” Jensen lashes out. He doesn’t want to deal with this shit. Not tonight when he’s already repressing and denying with everything he’s got in him. Ever since reading about the black goo found at the Tomas residence, Jensen has been fending off attacks. The voice has been relentless, demanding, downright brutal.  
  
Ty has the good grace to flinch in the face of Jensen’s fury. Mustering his courage, he places a hand on Jensen’s upper arm. “There’s obviously something bothering you. C’mon, open up to us, maybe we can help.”  
  
Jensen’s anger recedes from full-on boil to a low simmer. He pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut against the headache that has sprouted fully-formed inside his skull. Reluctantly, he allows Ty to pull him back into the living room. He gives his friends a wan smile and sits in the recliner they’ve conspicuously left empty for him. “Okay, you want me to play along? I’ll play along. Who wants to start?”  
  
AJ stops puttering around with his phone, lying it face down on his thigh.  
  
Felicia tucks her feet up underneath herself and fidgets with the sofa pillow she has clutched to her chest. “I know this is unfair. It must seem like we’re ganging up on you. That’s not what this is. Please, don’t be mad at us.” She looks at him with big, Bambi eyes. Her lower lip trembles.  
  
The last of his anger gutters and is extinguished similar to a campfire doused by a bucket of water. Fuck, talk about unfair. Now he doesn’t even have the shield of his anger to protect him. He slumps in the recliner, resigned. “Fine, I’m not mad. What is it you wanted to talk about?”  
  
Ty sits down on the couch between Danneel and Felicia, elbows on his knees. Apparently, he’s the designated speaker because he starts right in. “Like I said, we’re worried about you. There’s a darkness hanging over you, brother. You hide it well, but we’ve all noticed the sleepless nights, the restless, almost manic behavior. There’s no shame in asking for help.”  
  
Jensen groans internally. They think he’s manic depressive or bipolar. Just like back in the Home. They’ll want him to see a shrink and take meds that make him feel like a zombie. Well, they can forget that shit, he’s not doing that again. Fight or flight response makes him want to bolt from the room, but his higher reasoning capabilities kick in, guiding him along a path that, while risky, might work to salvage his friendships. In the Home, he’d told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help him god. That’s what got him into trouble there. Ever since then he has hidden the truth behind stoicism and a carefree facade that has been slipping of late. Neither of those two approaches work in the long run. Besides, his friends deserve at least a partial version of the truth, as much truth as he thinks they can handle before they have him committed.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he says, “My parents were killed when I was fifteen years old. I’m the one who found them.” He goes on to tell his story, carefully omitting anything to do with the shadow monster or the voice that has tormented him ever since. He describes the suspicion that followed him everywhere he went, how his sister was afraid of him, how his aunt didn’t want anything to do with him. He relays the years he spent in the Home, as he calls it, the capital H well deserved in his opinion. The Home was where he lived after his parents died, a place with other teenagers that no one wanted, the misfits, the freaks. And he was the freakiest of the bunch. He even tells them about Jared. His housemates sit silently through the entire story, giving him their rapt attention. Even AJ loses his air of boredom. At the end of his monologue, Jensen looks down at his hands twisted in his lap. “So, I know I’m messed up. I know I’m a freak. But I’ve had enough therapy to last a lifetime and I swear to you, I’m not a danger to myself or others.” His delivery is way off. What he’d meant as a joke to lighten the mood elicits not a single chuckle.   
  
A heartbeat later, Danneel flies off the couch and crashes against his chest, slender arms around his neck. “You aren’t a freak. You aren’t! I don’t ever want to hear you talk about yourself like that again.”  
  
Over Danneel’s head, Jensen can see tear tracks running down Felicia’s pixie-like face.   
  
“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m okay. It was a long time ago.”  
  
Ty pulls Felicia into a hug, offering comfort. She goes willingly.  
  
AJ opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but did they ever find out who killed your parents? People don’t just drop dead for no reason and you said yourself someone killed them.”  
  
Danneel pulls away to glower at AJ. “Insensitive much?”  
  
Jensen applies pressure to his temples where the worst of his headache has set up residence. “No, the killer was never found. I may be onto something though. This new case I’m on may be the breakthrough I’ve been looking for.” Damn, that’s more than he’d planned on saying. This headache is making it hard to concentrate.  
  
“Wait. Breakthrough? Have you been searching for the murderer all this time?” AJ leans forward in his chair, reaching a hand up to adjust his heavy, dark-rimmed glasses.  
  
Jensen considers AJ for a moment, the man he’d met at a symposium at Howard University about a year ago. About ten or so years older than the rest of them, AJ is the most recent member of the little family Jensen has cobbled together. Brash and somewhat egotistical, AJ shares Jensen’s interest in all things scientific. Although most of his studies lie in the realm of quantum physics, he has a basic understanding of string theory. In fact, the symposium where they met had been about string theory and how it may be used to prove that extra dimensions exist. Jensen has occasionally considered talking to AJ about his beliefs that beings from alternate dimensions can and have crossed over into their dimension. If any of his friends might understand, it would be AJ. But, his fear of rejection and ridicule has always stopped him. No, Christian and Misha are the only ones he’s told since adulthood and he’s sworn them both to absolute secrecy. Whatever they personally believe about his motives, they seem to respect him enough as a colleague not to bust his balls over his crazy ideas.  
  
“Off and on, yeah,” Jensen responds to AJ’s question. “It’s the main reason I joined the FBI. Even if I never get my parents the justice they deserve, at least I can help other people find closure. The job is satisfying in that sense.  
  
“And you’re damn good at it too,” Danneel pronounces emphatically. She gives him another hug before returning to the couch.  
  
Warmth spreads through him. He has the most awesome friends ever. He’s not certain he’s worthy of their support, especially since he hasn’t been one hundred percent honest. Then again, experience has taught him what happens when he’s totally honest with his friends and he’s not willing to take that risk.  
  
Ty kisses the top of Felicia’s head and gives her shoulder a final pat as she scoots back to her original position on the couch. Wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, she says, “What can we do to help you, Tigger?”  
  
“You guys do more for me than you know, just by being here. I’m not great at talking about, you know, my,” he grimaces, “feelings or whatever.”  
  
That gets a chuckle from Danneel and a “Tell me about it,” from Ty. Felicia rolls her eyes.  
  
“It helps knowing you’re nearby, that I’m not...alone.” Jensen waves a hand around in the air dismissively. “Okay, can we stop now? This sucks.”  
  
“One more thing before we give this subject a rest,” Ty speaks up. “Forgive me for sounding like a medical PSA, sometimes its hard to ditch the profession.” He quirks his lips in a self-deprecating smile. “But listen, man, these bouts of insomnia aren’t healthy. I’m not even sure how you function half the time. I know you say you don’t like to take pills so sleeping pills and anti-anxiety medication are probably out for you.” He pauses as though he wants to make sure he’s right.  
  
Jensen nods. “I hate the way pills make me feel.” What he doesn’t tell them is that pills leave him defenseless against the voice’s attacks, not to mention the nightmares.  
  
“Alright, but have you considered meditation or hypnosis? Both methods have decent success rates in helping people who suffer from insomnia.”  
  
The thought of opening himself up enough for hypnosis to be effective or meditation for that matter makes his skin crawl, goosebumps popping out all up and down his arms. He puts a hand over his mouth and scratches the stubble on his cheeks and chin, hoping it looks like he’s pondering the merits of hypnosis and not like he’s afraid he’s about to blow chunks.   
  
The thing is, he’s never been able to figure out why he hears the monster’s voice inside his head. Not definitively. He has his theories, mostly formed from the things the voice say to him, but questions remain. Did the monster do something to him when he rammed his shoulder into it? When they came into contact with each other did their minds link? Was a bridge forged between them? Is the Shadow actually talking to him, or does a part of the creature live inside him? Where does the voice originate? The Shadow? Or him? With those questions swirling through his brain, Jensen can’t imagine anything good coming of hypnosis.  
  
Putting a hand on his left shoulder, he tries to rub some of the age-old ache out of it. “My main method of coping is to keep going, keep moving, don’t think too much. Hell, I figure since I don’t sleep much, I can get that much more stuff done. Isn’t everybody always complaining that they don’t have enough hours in the day to do what they want? I’m lucky, I’ve got what everyone else wants.” He shrugs, like there’s nothing more to it. “So, anyone else hungry? We could order a couple pizzas and play Rock Band while we wait for them to come.”  
  
Ty huffs, seemingly unconvinced, but then he relents. “I get to play drums this time.”  
  
Felicia pulls out her phone to place the order with their favorite pizza joint.  
  
AJ cocks his head and says. “Where is this new case you’re on?”  
  
“Lexington,” Jensen replies. “We leave first thing tomorrow.”  
  
AJ nods, a far-away look in his eyes.  
  
***~~***~~***~~***  
  
The flight to Lexington Kentucky the next morning is uneventful, clear skies and little to no turbulence. Jensen needs a distraction and Misha is usually good for providing them. A question occurs to him. He turns to his partner who is sitting next to him, both of them crammed into airplane seats with too little leg room. “Who takes care of Tony and Maria when you go out of town on a case?”  
  
Misha side-eyes him, continues examining the contents of the seat back pocket in front of him. “One of the wonderful things about sea monkeys is they don’t need much care. They can take care of themselves for the most part.” He sits back, trying in vain to stretch his legs out and then giving up with a grunt. “I must say that I was reticent to leave them this time, however.”  
  
“Why’s that? Did something happen to them?”  
  
“Oh no, nothing drastic. Only...Maria wasn’t her normal playful self. Typically, I chat with them while drinking my coffee and this morning Maria was a bit green around the gills, lethargic. Tony was beside himself with worry. It’s not like her at all.”  
  
“Umm...” Jensen is unsure how to respond to that. There are many things he could ask, like how one might go about chatting with an underwater animal. He settles for, “Do you think she needs to see a vet?”  
  
Misha turns a serious face toward him, brows drawn. “You mean a sea monkey doctor?”  
  
“Um yeah, that.”  
  
Misha hums thoughtfully. “Not yet. I talked Tony into waiting until I get back. If she’s the same or worse by then, we’ll make sure she sees a doctor.” Misha scrapes a hand over his scruffy chin. “What about you, did you follow orders and get some sleep last night? You look like shit, Jense.”  
  
“Gee thanks.” Of course, he hadn’t slept. How could he? Memories of his encounter with the thing that killed his parents and the godforsaken days that followed their deaths plagued him all night long. Not to mention the wonderful therapy session his housemates had forced upon him. After convincing them he was okay and was turning in for the night, he’d waited until they were all asleep and then proceeded to prowl around his house like a guard dog protecting its territory, constantly alert for intruders. “I slept like a log,” he says. “Never better. Now, shouldn’t we discuss the case? Where do you think we should start?”  
  
The deflection works to some degree. Misha arches an eyebrow, lips flattened in a straight line, a look that clearly says, ‘you’re not fooling me’, but then he sighs and goes along with the topic change. “Our flight gets in at 10:30, assuming our rental is ready and waiting for us, we can be on the road by 11:00. That gives us plenty of time to begin our investigation today.” He takes a sip of ginger ale from the small plastic cup on his tray. “We’ll need to check in with the Lexington Police Department first thing. Let them know we’ve arrived and see if we can talk to the officers in charge of the case. Maybe they’ve found something new or can give us some insights they didn’t put into their report.”  
  
Jensen nods. Sometimes with the more bizarre cases, the ones with pieces that don’t fit together or unexplained phenomena, those parts that don’t make sense don’t make it into the official report. Talking to the officers involved in person will often uncover those hidden details that make all the difference in solving the case. “After that we should check in with the ME. I want more information on the unidentified substance they found on the bodies.” More than that, Jensen wants to see it for himself, compare it to his memories from _that_ night. “It’s the same, Mish, the same as the stuff they found on me, on my parents. I’d bet my life on it.”  
  
“Jense,” Misha cautions. “I know you’re hoping this case will give you the answers you’re looking for. I know you need a fresh lead. There hasn’t been anything substantial for a while now. But please, don’t get yourself all worked up. Last time-”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Jensen cuts him off, angrier than he has a right to be. Last time, meaning a case they’d worked about a month and a half ago, Jensen had been positive the shadow creature was involved. So much so that when it turned out to be something else entirely, he’d fallen into a deep depression. His despondency had even rivaled the time he’d spent in the Home.  
  
“All I’m saying is,” Misha lowers his voice to a barely audible hiss, “your theory about interdimensional monsters is difficult to prove. You may never find the lead you need. You may never find this shadow thing you say is out there.” Jensen opens his month, but Misha holds up a finger, forestalling his protest. “Let me finish. I believe you, I do. After all the unexplainable things we’ve seen, I’d be an imbecile not to. And I’m with you on this all the way, whatever you decide. You want to continue following up on every obscure case that comes across Kane’s desk? I’m there. You can count on me. But maybe it’s time to focus on finding another way to get that fucking voice out of your head. I hate seeing what it does to you.” Sincerity softens Misha’s expression. “It’s destroying you.”  
  
Jensen deflates, all the anger running out of him like water from a punctured water balloon. Unshed tears sting his eyes. He looks around to see if any of the other passengers seem interested in their whispered conversation. No one is paying them the slightest attention. “There is no other way. I have to find it, kill it, send it back to whatever dimension it came from. I don’t know yet what it will take. All I know is, destroying the monster is the key to getting rid of the voice. There’s no other way.” 


	6. With Voyeuristic Intention

**Then**  
  
Jensen wakes up the next morning sore as hell. The bruises all over his body seem to have multiplied, blossoming overnight into vibrant purples and magentas. Jesus, he looks like an apocalypse survivor or something equally as gruesome. There’s even a dark bruise on his chin. Lovely. Good thing he was planning on wearing a little makeup tonight anyway.  
  
Tonight’s the night they’re going to Rocky Horror for Jared’s birthday. Both sets of parents have agreed to a one-time only extension of curfews until 1:00 am in honor of the special occasion. Jensen broke down and spilled the beans about where they were going to Jared yesterday once they got home from the field. He’s shit at keeping secrets, and besides, he wants Jared to be able to dress appropriately if that’s something he’s into, because, hell yeah, Jensen’s definitely going to dress the part.  
  
The day goes by quickly. It’s Saturday, the most crowded day of the week at the market. Jensen loves all the activity, and whenever anyone asks him about his bruises, he regales them with stories about his awesome dirt bike exploits. Jared huffs and laughs as the stories get more and more outlandish, culminating with a ten foot jump over a shark-filled moat. Jensen also catches a gleam in the other boy’s eyes that he isn’t sure how to interpret. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it though because they’re both kept busy restocking stalls for their regular customers. Before they know it, the day is over and the market is closing.   
  
They part ways as they leave, each heading to their respective homes. Jared’s parents want to spend some time with him on his birthday and they’re taking him out for dinner as he’d predicted they would. Jensen has some supplies he needs to purchase for the interactive audience participation portion of the show. Plus, the makeup for his costume requires some experimentation since the only other makeup he’s ever worn is Halloween makeup. This is similar, but not exactly the same thing.  
  
His mom makes salmon and rice for dinner. After he’s eaten, he excuses himself from the table, locks himself in the bathroom, and empties his purchases onto the counter. The bottles, tubes, and assorted paraphernalia form an intimidating mound. Where to start? He idly picks up a tube of black eyeliner, untwists the cap, and pulls out the thin brush. As good a place as any, he supposes.  
  
An hour or so later, he studies his reflection in the mirror, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He’s wearing heavy black ankle-high boots, black leather pants, and a studded leather vest. A velvet collar fits snug around his throat. On his bare shoulders he’s used some shimmering oil that gives his already bronzed skin a glittery appearance. The tips of his spiked hair are dyed gold. Smokey black eyeshadow, thick black eyeliner, and mascara make his eyes seem as large as an anime character’s. To top off his look, he’s put on cherry flavored lip gloss, the color a barely-there pink. Certainly not the way he wants to be seen on an everyday basis, but for tonight it’s fucking amazing.  
  
A car horn honks from the driveway outside, Jeff and Jared probably. Jensen grabs the two bags of Rocky Horror essentials he’d put together earlier and pelts down the stairs, taking them two at a time.   
  
His mom stands at the bottom, camera in hand. “Oh my goodness, look at you!” She squeals. “I need pictures.” She laughs and snaps pictures, calling him a ham and a scoundrel while he poses shamelessly. Pleased with the number of pictures she has, she says, “I wish I could give you a hug, but I don’t want to mess up all your hard work.”  
  
Blowing her a kiss, he responds, “Love you, Mom,” and rushes out the door, not wanting to keep Jeff and Jared waiting any longer.  
  
Jeff’s blue Ford Focus is parked in the driveway, engine running, Jared sitting shotgun. Jensen jogs over and slides into the back seat.  
  
A wolf whistle, long and low, comes from the driver’s seat. “Well, ain’t you a looker,” Jeff says. Jeff is twenty years old, four years older than them. He works for an electrician buddy of his and lives at home so he can save money for college.  
  
“Whoa,” Jared says, voice breathy. “You didn’t tell me you were going all out. Now I feel underdressed.”  
  
“This is nothing,” Jensen smirks. “Just wait ‘til we get there and you see what some of the other people are wearing.”  
  
Jared pouts. “Not helping, Jen.” He’s got on a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a white button down shirt open to his navel, flat stomach and abs on display.  
  
“What are you even talking about, you look good enough to eat.” Jensen winks suggestively. The costume is making him feel unfettered, free to say and do things he wouldn’t normally do - like flirt with his best friend. Maybe not such a smart idea, he thinks. Time to tone it down a bit before he takes it too far and gives away his secret crush. “Don’t worry, Jare. There will be people dressed in their everyday clothes and people dressed in bustiers and everything in between. You’ll fit right in.”  
  
Seemingly appeased, Jared faces forward and Jeff backs the car out of the driveway.  
  
About half an hour later, they’re pulling up in front of the theatre, an older building in the revitalized section of town. Among the people milling around on the sidewalk are a girl in a skimpy French maid costume and another wearing a see-through pink baby doll nightie.   
  
Jeff turns around, resting his arm of the back of the driver’s seat so he can see both Jared and Jensen. “I’ll be back to pick you up at 12:15 am.” He points at Jared. “Don’t be late. If I don’t get you home by one o’clock sharp, Mom with have a conniption fit. You know I’m right.” A slow smile lightens his expression. “Now, go have fun. But don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”  
  
Jared smacks his brother on the arm. “Cool, anything goes then.” He cackles and jumps out of the car before Jeff can retaliate.  
  
“Thanks man.” Jensen waves goodbye to Jeff, leading the way to the ticket booth. He buys two tickets and they head through the double doors, passing through the lobby area and into the main theatre. Many audience members have yet to take their seats. Instead, they’re standing around in groups, talking and admiring the costumes of those who dressed up. There are people dressed as Frank N. Furter, Riff Raff, Magenta, Rocky, and the rest of the cast. Some people are wearing bright red lipstick or wigs or white face makeup. You name it and someone is wearing it. Jensen gets his fair share of admiration. One girl gives him a thumbs up and someone else gives him a high five, but when a guy with fake blood on his face comes over to whisper, “Nice outfit,” in his ear, Jared puts a hand on the small of his back to guide him toward a couple empty seats in the middle of the theatre.  
  
“Here,” Jensen says, handing him a bag of essentials. “You’re gonna need this stuff.”  
  
Jared opens the bag and sifts through the contents, pulls out the flashlight, flicks it on, flicks it off. He seems too somber - introspective - like he’s mulling something important over.  
  
“You know what to do with that stuff?” Jensen asks.  
  
Jared snorts. “I have some idea. I’ve never been before, but I don’t live under a rock. I’ve heard other people talk about it.” His dimples flash as he bumps their shoulders together.  
  
“Yeah, it’s pretty self-explanatory. Just follow what everyone else does.” Jensen smacks his lips, rubbing them against each other. The lipgloss feels slippery and strange. He glances up and sees Jared staring at his lips. Huh.  
  
The lights flicker and a temporary hush falls over the audience followed by catcalls and jeers when the MC comes on stage. From the way half the audience responds in unison to his remarks, Jensen can tell this is part of the show even though he doesn’t remember it from the one and only other time he was here a year ago. The MC recites ‘the rules’ and jokes about virgins in the audience. Jensen points at Jared and the people around them hoot good-naturedly. When the MC leaves the stage, the lights dim and the movie starts.  
  
The thing that makes Rocky Horror so much fun is letting yourself get swept along with the crowd, fully immersing yourself in the experience, becoming part of the show. For just a few hours, you belong to the larger group, a card-carrying member of the cult. Jensen and Jared do exactly that. They throw rice after the wedding, squirt water during the rainstorm, and throw toilet paper when Dr. Scott arrives. They may not get the timing perfectly right, but they fumble their way through it, laughing as they try to pull the right items from their bags when they see what everyone else is doing.   
  
Jensen laughs so hard while dancing to Time Warp that he has to bend over and catch his breath. Jared puts a hand on his chest to keep him from losing his balance. When Jensen can breathe again, he looks over to thank his friend and freezes. The words dissolve in his mouth. The look he catches on Jared’s face is one of unadulterated adoration, eyes shining, lips parted, cheeks flushed. They stare at each other while Riff Raff sings and the audience continues to dance around them. Then slowly, like he’s moving underwater, Jared lowers his face until their lips touch. Jensen lets his eyes fall closed and leans in to the kiss, mouth parting, tasting the lip gloss and Jared. Jared pulls him closer, a hand on his hip, and mashes their mouths together more firmly.   
  
The song ends. Everyone around them sits back down. Jensen pulls away and sits, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Jared. He can’t believe what just happened, what Jared just did. Jared kissed him. He kissed Jared back. This changes _everything_.   
  
Jared hasn’t looked away either. He puts fingers to his lips, smears the lip gloss left there from the kiss around and then sucks his fingers into his mouth. Fuck, that’s hot! Does Jared even know how sexy he is? Jensen has to reach down and adjust himself in his leather pants.  
  
He feels like he’s just been struck by lightning, electricity zinging through his body. Everything he knows about his friendship with Jared, their plans, their future, everything, has been turned inside out and upside down - in the best possible way. They’re going to have to rethink it all because its possible...yeah, he might be in love with Jared. And the truly amazing thing is that Jared might love him back. His cheeks begin to hurt, and he realizes he hasn’t stopped smiling. This may be the happiest he’s ever been.   
  
Jared grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers. They’re going to have to talk about this, but not now. For now, they sit and watch the rest of the show, hand in hand.  
  
***~~***~~***~~***  
  
Jensen throws open his front door, nearly bouncing into his house. He winces a moment later when the dark foyer reminds him how late it is. Luckily, his sister is spending the night with a friend and his parents are probably in their room waiting up for him, so chances are he hasn’t woken anyone. Humming Time Warp, he saunters upstairs. He’ll just go up and let his parents know he’s home before going to bed, not that he’s sleepy, he’s still totally keyed up, but it is late and he’s made plans to meet up with Jared after church tomorrow so he needs some rest.  
  
Jared. Just the thought of his _boyfriend_ \- does he get to call him that yet? - makes Jensen feel lighter than air, like gravity no longer applies to him, like he can push off from the ground and walk among the clouds and every other sappy cliche imaginable.  
  
His parents’ room is the first one at the top of the stairs. The door is ajar, light filtering into the hallway.  
  
“Hey, I’m home! Mom? Dad?”  
  
A sound unlike anything he’s ever heard before comes from somewhere nearby, a gurgling screech that causes his whole body to go rigid. Simultaneously, the smell hits him, fetid and gag-inducing, like really foul body odor. Before he can react, a shadow as tall as a man detaches from the gloom further down the hallway, moving toward him. It’s vaguely humanoid, has two legs, two arms, and a head, but that’s where any resemblance to humanity ends. The creature seems made of a roiling, inky-black smoke. Its shape seethes and bubbles, ever changing, ever morphing. Other than two sickly yellow eyes, the face has no discernible features and yet it still manages to convey a terrible hunger. The bile colored eyes regard him intently as the...thing shambles closer.   
  
Jensen’s breath catches in his throat. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. It must be a nightmare. He must have fallen asleep, maybe on the way home, and now he’s dreaming, because this creature can’t exist, can’t be in his house. And now that he knows he’s dreaming, he can simply wake himself up. That’s normally how it works. He wills himself to wake up, but nothing changes. The shadow monster is still there and now it’s reaching for him, a molten, shapeless hand groping the air in front of him.  
  
An icy chill seeps into his bones. His parents. He has to warn his parents. The creature is between him and his parents’ room, blocking his way. “Dad! Close your door, lock it. Hurry!” he yells.  
  
The screeching sound coming from a dark void that might be the monster’s mouth changes pitch, alters tone until Jensen can make out garbled words, dry and powdery like ashes. “Want you...hungry...give me...”  
  
A grim determination grips him, where it comes from Jensen has no idea, but he’s not going to let this nightmare beat him. He’s not going to let it take his family, not now, not when his life is so goddamn perfect.   
  
There’s been no movement from his parents’ room, and he can’t get around the shadow creature. The only way he can get to them is to go through it. He braces himself and charges, leading with his left shoulder, intending to knock it backwards. His shoulder meets only a spongy resistance, like tar. Instead of a solid, satisfying impact, his shoulder sinks into the fluid form. Then, there’s a nauseating pop and blinding pain.   
  
Jensen recoils, gasping and shaking, left arm hanging heavy and useless at his side. He expects the creature to attack, to overpower him now that he’s obviously injured. It doesn’t. If anything, it seems just as shocked as he is. It’s smoky mass shrinks and it whines, “Too bright...can’t get you...Why?...n-need you...”   
  
“Fuck off, asshole,” Jensen manages to snarl past the white-hot pain, desperation giving him the strength he needs to stay upright.  
  
The monster gives one last plaintive cry and evaporates into thin air.  
  
Staring at where the shadow monster used to be, Jensen fights with the hysteria that suddenly threatens to overtake him. _Monsters are real. A monster came out of the shadows. Shadow monsters are real._ A scream claws its way up his throat, but he viciously swallows it down, refusing to give voice to his panic. Stubborn just like his mother always says.  
  
His mother.  
  
Jensen stumbles the few feet to his parents’ room, stands in the threshold, and his mind shuts down.  
  
His mom and his dad are both on the floor, eyes wide open and unseeing, skin grey, mouths wide open in soundless horror.  
  
Jensen sinks to the floor. He can’t feel his legs. He can’t feel anything at all.  
  
For the second time that night, Jensen’s world twists on its axis, forever changed.  
  
Forever warped.


	7. Well Secluded, I'll See All

**Now**  
  
The plane lands thirteen minutes late. They disembark, make their way through the crowded airport, pluck their bags from the luggage carousel, and claim the rental car reserved for them by Briana all by 11:03 am. Not their best time, but not terrible. He and Misha travel frequently, so they have the whole thing down to a science. They stop for a quick lunch, check into their hotel, and arrive at the station shortly after 1:00 pm.  
  
The police chief, a rugged man in his late fifties with salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard, welcomes them personally. He introduces himself as Chief of Police Jeffrey Dean Morgan, but is quick to add they should just call him JD since everyone else does. “We got the heads up you were on your way. To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here. This one has us scratching our heads,” he says as he leads them out of the bullpen area and into his office. “Have a seat, please.”  
  
“No thank you. We won’t take up much of your time,” Jensen declines the offer. “We read the reports, but there’s not much there to go on. No fingerprints, no unusual activity reported by neighbors. The only clue seems to be the black...liquid found at the scene.” He just barely stops himself from calling it ‘goo’, a throwback from his teenage years. “What can you tell us about it? Do you have a sample here I can examine?”  
  
“In our evidence lock-up, yeah. I don’t think you’ll be able to tell much from looking at it though. Kinda reminds me of the greasy sludge you find in a clogged drain. Nothing that gets my wheels spinning, if you know what I mean. Our lab guys on the other hand, they’re all up in arms about it.”  
  
“Have they figured out where it comes from?” Misha asks in the gravel-rough voice he reserves for new acquaintances, people he’s not sure he can trust.  
  
JD runs a hand through his hair and huffs a sigh. “That’s just it. They say it doesn’t come from _anywhere_ , not anywhere on this world anyway.”  
  
Jensen carefully schools his expression into one of casual interest. “Not this world? Where then?”  
  
Silence greets his question. JD rests his hands on the back of his desk chair, studying Jensen and Misha in turn. Finally, he says, “If I tell you, you’re going to think we’re all off our rockers. Hell, I don’t even believe it myself, but well...every test they’ve run on the stuff has come back negative. I don’t know what else it can be.” The man looks at a complete loss.  
  
Taking one step closer to the police chief, Jensen looks him in the eye, pouring every ounce of empathy he feels into his gaze. “I won’t think you’re crazy. You can tell me anything and I won’t judge you. Please, tell me what they think it is.”  
  
JD’s gaze goes out the window. His shoulders are stiff, tense. In a gruff voice, he says, “I’m probably going to want to punch myself in the face after I tell you this.” He shakes his head. “Oh, what the hell. They have two hypotheses. The first is that it’s extraterrestrial and the second is that it’s from another dimension. Another dimension...listen to me. I sound like a nutcase.”  
  
Jensen suppresses a shudder. “Who’s to say what’s crazy and what isn’t? I’ve found that having an open mind comes in handy in this line of work.” His fingers are going numb. He sticks his hands in his pants pockets.  
  
He’s heard professors and academics talk about string theory and the possibility of dimensions other than this one many times, has made it his number one priority to track down as much information on the subject as he possibly can. He probably knows more about parallel universes than most physicists working in the field do. Still, hearing Police Chief Jeffrey Dean Morgan say the words ‘another dimension’ in correlation to a case he’s working is surreal. He’s close to finding the truth after all these years. He can feel it.  
  
 _Come to me...you are mine...the door to my world is open_  
  
The voice sounds eager. Icy fingers trail down his spine  
  
Misha clears his throat, throwing Jensen a troubled glance before addressing the Chief of Police. “We’d like to speak with the lab technicians and the investigating officers. Can you set those meetings up?”  
  
JD nods, looking relieved for the discussion to end. “Certainly. And you said you wanted to see the evidence as well, right? I’ll have someone take you down there in the meantime.” Opening the door, he flags down the nearest uniform. “Take these agents to evidence lock-up.”  
  
“You got it, JD,” the dark-skinned man says with an amiable smile. “This way.”  
  
As Misha and Jensen leave to follow the officer down the corridor, JD sticks his head out of his office, “Come back here when you’re done and I’ll give you the details for when and where you can meet the ME and the officers in charge of the Tomas case.”  
  
“Much appreciated,” Misha intones.  
  
The evidence room is partitioned off by a sliding iron gate. A long counter also bars the way. An older officer who appears about a decade past normal retirement age, gives them the paperwork necessary for evidence removal. The little remaining hair on his head is white as snow and so thin that it waves in the slight air currents created as he returns to his seat at the other end of the counter.  
  
Heaving a sigh at the prospect of filling out another form, Jensen grabs a pen from the nearby cup.  
  
Misha rests his forearms on the waist-high counter. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Jensen doesn’t look up, intent on completing the form in the most efficient way possible.  
  
“Yes, how do you get people to open up to you the way you do? For instance, Chief Morgan was visibly uncomfortable discussing what he saw as the ridiculous conclusions reached by his lab techs. And yet, it only took a few words from you and he was eager to tell you every detail.”  
  
Jensen chuffs, “I think you might be exaggerating.”  
  
“It’s not an exaggeration. It happens all the time. You have a way about you. People trust you, they feel relaxed around you. Are you telling me you don’t even know you’re doing it?”  
  
“Doing what?”  
  
Misha thinks for a moment, head cocked to the side. “I’m not sure what to call it, but you seem to connect with the people around you. You relate to them and they to you. I’ve witnessed it often.”  
  
Jensen shrugs, self-conscious. He taps the pen against the evidence requisition form a couple times. “Maybe it’s because I know how it feels to have no one believe me, to wish there was someone...anyone...I could talk to who wouldn’t look at me as though I was batshit crazy.” A lump lodges in his throat. He swallows around it and waves the completed form in the air to get the evidence lock-up guard’s attention.  
  
“Maybe,” Misha says quietly.  
  
The white-haired gentleman shuffles over, peruses the form with tired eyes, and proceeds to use a key from the ring on his belt to open the gate, reappearing some time later, a 9x12” mustard yellow envelope in his hand. He gives it to Jensen, not a scrap of interest in his demeanor.  
  
Inside, a stoppered glass vial rests in a cocoon of bubble wrap. Jensen removes the vial gingerly, holds it up to the fluorescent overhead light fixture, and tilts it. The slimy black liquid therein has the consistency of molasses, it sticks to the inner walls of the tube, moving sluggishly from one end to the other. There’s only about a teaspoon’s worth in the vial. The monster is getting more canny, it leaves less and less of its spoor behind each of the few times Jensen has come across its handiwork.  
  
He begins unstoppering the container, but Misha makes a grab for it. “Let me,” he says. “I know what it smells like as well as you do at this point.”  
  
Jensen shakes his head. “I got this.”  
  
The plug pulls free and the smell smacks him full in the face, rancid and sharp, making his eyes water and his nostrils burn as if sprayed with hydrochloric acid. Jensen’s body jerks. It’s an instinctive reaction, pure muscle memory, a violent need to escape. His fingers spasm and the vial falls. Misha’s hand comes from out of nowhere to snatch it mid-air. He plucks the rubber plug from Jensen’s other hand and deftly screws it back in place.  
  
“Sweet baby Jesus, that crap is strong,” Misha exclaims, scrunching up his nose and fanning the air in front of his face. “I don’t remember it being that pungent last tome. Why do you suppose that is? Is it fresher this time? Or did the shadow thingy forget to shower?”  
  
Jensen stands, paralyzed, afraid to take another breath.  
  
 _Cry for me lovely boy...your tears will open the door...show me the way_  
  
“Jense? Jensen!” Misha is right in front of him, hands on both his upper arms, shaking him in controlled increments that are gradually becoming more insistent. “Breathe damn it!”  
  
“I’m okay,” he gasps, finally gulping air into oxygen-starved lungs. How long has he been standing there without taking a breath? Stepping backwards out of Misha’s hold, he leans against the counter. Each greedy inhale he takes helps dispel the spots dancing in his vision. “I’ve got-”  
  
“If you say ‘you’ve got this’ one more time, I’m going to hogtie you and leave you in your hotel room while I finish this investigation by myself,” Misha threatens. “I mean it, Jense!” Softening his tone, he says, “Let me help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”  
  
Jensen can do nothing other than nod.  
  
He takes the vial from Misha and pockets it without giving it much thought.   
  
The Shadow was here. Jensen is now certain.  
  
Continuing the normal course of investigation will be a waste of valuable time and effort. The killer isn’t human and won’t be captured or convicted for its crimes by conventional means. It’s long gone now and, unlike human murderers, the Shadow doesn’t ever return to the scene of the crime.  
  
Jensen feels as jittery as a racehorse at the starting gate. Time is of the essence. He wants to start looking for patterns between these two murders and the others he’s been able to pin on the Shadow over the last three years he’s been working for the FBI, five murders all told. The key to stopping the interdimensional monster will be in learning how to predict when and where it will show up next, being there when it does. Of course, he’ll also have to discover a way to kill it, but he’ll figure that out later.  
  
Misha, however, convinces him they need to keep up appearances for the time being, conduct the meetings they’ve requested with the ME and the officers in charge of the Tomas case, examine the bodies, conduct their own search at the crime scene, and so on. He argues there still may be some useful information to be found and besides, they still need to rule out human involvement. Jensen knows he’s right. Despite his peculiar ways, Misha is often the more reasonable one between the two of them.  
  
Unfortunately, the remainder of the day proves unproductive. No one is able to speak with them until tomorrow and although they go to the Tomas’ house, they find nothing more interesting than a broken wine glass and a red wine stain on the living room carpet where Mrs. Tomas’ body had been found. By the ME’s estimation, death occurred around 8 pm. Simple deduction leads Jensen to believe Mrs. Tomas was having a glass of wine after dinner. Nothing unusual about that. When the Shadow appeared, she probably dropped the glass. The question remains - Why did the Shadow come here? What drew it to Mr. and Mrs. Tomas?  
  
Sadness is part of it. The voice has told him that much on many occasions, always begging him to cry or asking if he’s sad enough yet. His parents, Jensen learned after their deaths, had received a phone call while he was at Rocky Horror with Jared, informing them that his cousin Isabella had drowned at the lake where she and her mother were vacationing. The five other confirmed victims of the Shadow also had recent reasons for sorrow and grief, whether it be a death in the family, the loss of a much beloved pet, or a recent divorce. He’s sure once he digs into it, he’ll find a recent tragedy in the Tomas’ life as well. Yes, emotional pain is part of the equation, but there has to be more. Sorrow in and of itself can’t be the only ingredient. Hundreds of thousands of people are sad everyday and the Shadow doesn’t kill them all. There’s something else he’s missing.  
  
After discussing their options, he and Misha decide to go back to the hotel where they can do some research on their laptops, breaking for dinner when they get hungry.   
  
“I’ll grab my laptop and come work in your room,” Jensen says as he fishes the keycard from his pocket. This hotel doesn’t have any rooms with adjoining doors. Whenever that happens, they always pick one room to work in. Because they share an office at headquarters, and a small one at that, they’re used to bouncing ideas off each other as they work. Plus there’s the whole Jensen-doesn’t-do-well-alone situation of which Misha is well aware.  
  
The green light comes on, indicating the door is unlocked. He steps across the threshold and hears a crinkle. On the floor, under his shoe, lies a folded piece of paper that definitely wasn’t there when they checked in earlier.  
  
Strange.  
  
Flicking on the light switch, he quickly scans his surroundings. The slam of the door as it automatically closes behind him reverberates loudly in the otherwise silent room, causing his heart rate to stutter and jump. Curtains covering the window along the far wall remain stationary, not even the movement of air through vents making them flutter. Nothing emerges from behind the bed. Jensen breathes in the scent of detergent and air freshener and feels the tension in stiffly-held muscles drain away with the expelled air. Stupid. He’s being stupid. Housekeeping probably slipped the paper under his door to alert him of laundry services or something equally mundane.  
  
He bends down and picks up the paper. As he unfolds the nondescript white page, handwritten block letters appear.  
  
  
 **I KNOW WHAT KILLED YOUR PARENTS**  
 **MEET ME AT THE LEXINGTON BOTANICAL GARDEN AT MIDNIGHT**  
 **COME ALONE**  
  
Jensen’s thoughts race, skipping from one course of action to another and still another. Option one - do nothing. Ignore the note. Dismiss the possibility that this could be his only opportunity to get the answers he so desperately needs. It’s probably just a prank anyway. He could be reading much more into it than is there. Option two - do exactly as the note says. Lie to Misha, even if only by omission. Sneak out on his partner and meet the mysterious note sender at midnight alone. Option three - show Misha the note. Let his partner weigh-in on the matter and take his often-reasonable counsel into account. Even if Misha talks him out of going and the chance is lost forever.  
  
Exhaustion drags at his limbs, arms and legs growing heavier as if gravity has suddenly shifted, become more oppressive. His eyes itch and his eyelids droop. This happens whenever he’s still for too long, stress and sleepless nights catching up with him.  
  
He folds the paper until it’s a small square and stuffs it into his pocket. In the bathroom, he splashes tap water on his face and studies his blurry reflection in the mirror, hands braced against the sink. Moisture clumps his lashes together. A droplet clings to the tip of his nose. His pale complexion does nothing to diminish the dark smudges under his eyes. Misha is right; he does look like shit.   
  
He’s not sure how much longer he can go on this way. Misha is right about something else too, this...life...the voice...his quest...it’s destroying him. All of it whittling away at him like a woodcarver working a piece of wood, curled flecks being shaved off him bit by bit to land in a pile, dried out and brittle. The first gust of wind that comes along will scatter him to the four winds. Just like that, he’ll be gone.  
  
The note has to be the lead he’s been looking for. It _has_ to be. Option number one is off the table.  
  
Laptop bag in tow, he takes the three steps from his room to Misha’s and knocks.  
  
Upon opening the door, Misha says, “What took you so long? I thought you’d fallen asleep over there. I couldn’t decide whether to go get you or let you sleep. God knows you need it.”  
  
Jensen pushes past him into the room. Misha’s room is identical to his own - a king-size bed, bedside table, work desk complete with power and charger outlets, desk chair, a television on top of the dresser, and a plush chair for more comfortable TV viewing if you don’t want to sit on the bed. Misha’s suit jacket is hanging on the desk chair. His tie is loose around his neck, his light blue dress shirt is untucked, and the sleeves have been rolled up to the elbows. For Misha, that’s about as relaxed as it gets. Jensen is still wearing his suit, tie and all. Maybe he should have changed into casual wear while he was in his room.  
  
“I wasn’t sleeping, I was thinking,” Jensen eyes the bed longingly. Sleep does sound good and with Misha in the room there’s even a chance he could catch a few winks before leaving to met his secret admirer at midnight. The temptation is strong, so strong that Jensen sits in the straight-backed, uncomfortable desk chair rather than get any closer to the bed, afraid he’ll be unable to resist it’s lure much longer.  
  
“Thinking? About the shadow thingy?” Misha’s guess is anything but. He knows the Shadow is never far from Jensen’s thoughts.  
  
Removing the laptop from his bag, Jensen proceeds to set it up on the desk in front of him. He’ll use the time from now until his meeting wisely. There are plans to make and research to do. While his fingers tap out Lexington Botanical Garden in the search engine, he continues the conversation, “You know that no one besides me has ever come forward, claiming to have seen it - the shadow thingy as you so eloquently call it. Of the cases we’ve investigated where we found the gooey black residue on or around the victims, there has never been a survivor of its attack.”  
  
“Yes, we have discussed this.” Misha agrees, a solemn furrow in his brow. “You are the only one who has ever seen it and survived. Perhaps because it wasn’t expecting anyone else to arrive during its attack. You must have startled it.”  
  
“That’s what I’ve always thought. Especially since I haven’t been able to find any mentions of unidentified black substances in any unsolved cases before my parents’. It seems like they were the first and maybe the monster was inexperienced, easily confused, something like that.” Half his attention on the conversation and the other half on his computer, Jensen pulls up a map of the gardens, plotting likely meeting points since the note lacks any details. There’s one main entrance off the parking lot that leads to the ticketing area and a small gift shop. Most likely the meeting will take place there and not inside the garden itself, at least he hopes so, because the garden complex is just that - complex - with pathways and offshoots winding every which way, creating a labyrinth of hiding places. The perfect place for an ambush. In the dark, it will be easy to become lost, disoriented.   
  
Misha crosses to the dresser, leaning his hip against it. “You have a different theory now?”  
  
“If it feeds on sadness or is drawn by sadness, at least in part, like we think...it’s possible that happiness repels it.” Looking up from the map, Jensen gives his partner his full attention. “Mish, I was deliriously happy that day. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life, either before or since.”  
  
“Because of Jared.” It’s not a question. Misha knows the story of Jared.  
  
Jensen nods anyway. “Isn’t it possible that my happiness acted as a sort of shield? That it protected me?”  
  
After a moment’s silence while Misha studies the floor, deep in thought, he shrugs. “It’s certainly possible, but how do we separate conjecture from truth? I’m afraid I have no answers for you, Jense. I wish I did.” He sounds dispirited and that only makes Jensen feel more reckless than ever. He _will_ go meet whoever left that note and he _will_ get answers, no matter the repercussions.  
  
More heat in his voice than he’d intended, he stands and says, “That’s just the thing, isn’t it? We have no way to test that theory or any other theories because we haven’t been able to predict where it will be next. It doesn't appear often and, when it does, it’s always long gone by the time we get wind of it.”  
  
“I know.” Misha pushes off the dresser and puts a commiserating hand on Jensen’s back. “It has always been one step, make that ten steps, ahead of us.”  
  
Jensen’s face vibrates; is that even a thing? He chalks it up to exhaustion and ploughs on. “And there has never been a witness to interview, no one who even knows the monster exists...”  
  
“This time looks to be much the same. I’m sorry.” There’s a note of something that sounds like pity in Misha’s voice.  
  
Agitated, Jensen shakes off Misha’s sympathy. “No, you don’t understand. There’s never been anyone... until now.”  
  
Misha raises an eyebrow, unaffected by Jensen’s brusque tone. “Until now?”  
  
Jensen pulls the note from his pocket, holds it out to his partner. “This was waiting for me in my hotel room. Someone pushed it under the door.”  
  
Once he gets the paper unfolded, Misha stands motionless as his eyes flick rapidly over the brief message.  
  
“I’m going,” Jensen says into the silence, nudging the laptop screen so Misha can see the site he has open.  
  
“Jensen-”  
  
“I’ve made up my mind.” Jensen interrupts, jaw clenched.  
  
Misha doesn’t even blink. “You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.”


	8. With a Bit of a Mind Flip

**Then**  
  
Jensen kneels beside his mother. Her skin is the grey of rain clouds except for the black around her mouth. “Mom?” he calls, voice catching on a sob. Her eyes, green like his and normally so kind, stare past him, wide with terror. “Mom?” he tries again. He reaches out and touches her face. It’s cold and waxy. She needs help and he’s not sure what to do. Dad will know. “Dad? Mom needs help.” His dad doesn’t move. Jensen feels disconnected and small, so very, very small. He pulls his cell out of his pocket and dials 911. When the dispatcher answers he gives her the address in a voice he doesn’t recognize as his own and asks her to hurry, please hurry. Twelve minutes later when the paramedics arrive, they find him still in his Rocky Horror costume and makeup, curled in the fetal position, his head pressed against his dead mother’s shoulder.  
  
“What in the hell is that smell?”  
  
“Ugh, I don’t know. There’s no pulse over here, no life signs. Looks like he’s been dead for a while. Some kind of black stuff all over his nose. What about those two?”  
  
A pair of legs come into view. Jensen breathes in, breathes out.  
  
A white bag thunks to the floor. Jensen blinks.  
  
A woman crouches down next to him. She says, “Hey hun, can you tell me your name?” Her warm hand encircles his left wrist.  
  
Jensen stifles a moan at the pain that flares in his shoulder at the movement.  
  
“Ah, sorry. It’s okay, I’ll be more gentle with that arm,” she says to him, then turns her head. “Pete, can you check the female while I get vitals here?”  
  
“Sure thing. He all right?”  
  
“I’m not sure. That same black liquid is all over his shoulder and arm, looks like ink maybe? He’s conscious, but unresponsive. In shock most likely.”  
  
Help is here, Jensen thinks. They’ll make sure Mom and Dad are all right. Take them to the hospital. Everything’s going to be okay now.  
  
The female medic talks to him, takes his temperature, shines a light in his eyes, carefully probes his shoulder, takes his blood pressure. Jensen drifts, not actively ignoring her, just not really there. When they lift him onto the stretcher, he feels their hands, but it’s almost as if he’s not inside his body any longer, like he’s watching someone else get wheeled out to the ambulance, red and white lights strobing on and off. During the ambulance ride, his stomach churns and cramps. He feels all the blood drain from his face, leaving his skin clammy, and he begins gagging. The female medic is there, turning him onto his right side so he can heave into a plastic container. He heaves and gags, gags and heaves. It seems to go on forever. Then he’s shivering so hard that his teeth rattle.  
  
“Hold on, it’s okay. You’re okay,” the woman says, putting a blanket over him and a hand on his sweaty forehead.  
  
Jensen wants to believe her. He closes his eyes.  
  
“What in God’s name happened in that house?” she mutters.  
  
Some indeterminate time later, the ambulance rolls to a stop and the back doors swing open. He’s rolled inside and is immediately surrounded by men and women wearing various pastel-colored hospital scrubs.  
  
“We have a male in his mid-teens. His shoulder is dislocated. It was covered in black ichor, but we cleaned it up before bringing him in.” The lady medic announces.  
  
“Name?”  
  
“He hasn’t given us his name yet. He hasn’t said anything at all actually.”  
  
Jensen peers around, looking for his parents. If all this activity is for him, his mom and dad must have even more around them. But he doesn’t see anyone else being brought in.  
  
“Where are my parents? They need more help than I do. Help them, okay?”  
  
The hospital personnel look over to the medics expectantly and Jensen does too. They both shake their heads ‘no’ which doesn’t make any sense. Why are they saying no? He feels gut punched because a part of him knows why, but he can’t accept it. Won’t accept it.  
  
“I want to see them! Where are they?” Jensen struggles against the hands that are suddenly holding him fast to the gurney, panic overriding the spaced-out haze in which he’d spent the ambulance ride. Any movement sends paroxysms of agony from his shoulder all the way down to the fingers of his left hand. He doesn’t let that stop him.  
  
“Hey, hey, settle down. What’s your name? Can you tell me your name?” A skinny man, all sharp angles and big ears, asks.  
  
“Jensen,” he pants, the exertion wearing him out much more quickly than it should.  
  
“Okay Jensen, I’m Dr. Qualls. We’ll talk about your parents in a little while. Let’s worry about you for a minute. Tell me what happened to your shoulder.” He points to two people and makes a hand motion that must mean they’ve been selected to move Jensen’s gurney, all while appearing to give Jensen his undivided attention and genuine concern.  
  
Something about him makes Jensen feel...safe, despite the turmoil and confusion roiling inside him. The gurney moves down a long, white hall and Jensen stops fighting it. “Monsters are real,” he whispers. “It was in my house when I got home...the monster.”  
  
Dr. Qualls leans over the gurney, face scrunched up in concentration. “There was an intruder in your house? Did the intruder attack you?”  
  
Jensen nods. Intruder is as good a word as any. “Attacked my parents first, must have, then me. Smoke and shadow. The monster was made of smoke and shadow.” He bucks on the gurney, testing to see if he can get off. “Can I see my mom and dad now?”  
  
“Hold on, Jensen.” Skinny though it may be, Dr. Qualls’ hand on his chest is strong enough to keep Jensen from sitting up. “Tell you what we’re going to do. First, we’re getting an x-ray of your shoulder. We may be able to manipulate it back into the socket without surgery. Once that’s done and we’ve got you in a recovery room, we’ll find out about your parents. Deal?”  
  
Jensen didn’t see his mom and dad being brought in to the hospital, but they’ve got to be here somewhere. Right? He takes a shuddering breath. “Deal.”  
  
Having x-rays taken of a dislocated shoulder sucks. By the time they’re done, Jensen is trembling and sweating. Afterwards, he’s taken to a treatment room and given an IV for fluids - apparently, he’d lost a lot during the bout of vomiting in the ambulance - and pain meds. His shoulder is iced. Dr. Qualls gives him the great news that, according to the x-rays and the fact that this is the first time his shoulder has ever been dislocated, it will be a fairly easy matter to lever it back into its proper place. All it will take is a wonder drug called Versed and Jensen won’t remember a thing about his bones and ligaments and tendons being stretched and pulled and ground back into place. He’s all for that, wishes he could go back in time and take some before stumbling into his parent’s bedroom and seeing them...  
  
The Versed works quickly. He remembers Dr. Qualls asking him to count backwards from twenty. He gets to seventeen and Jensen...is...out.  
  
***~~***~~***~~***  
  
His mom and dad are dead.  
  
He’s known it all along. Pretending made it easier to cope, to bear, to survive, but he couldn’t keep up the lie forever. Not even to himself.  
  
“Jensen, about your parents...” his geeky-looking doctor says when Jensen wakes up in the recovery room wearing a hospital gown, his arm in a black sling. “I’m so sorry, but they-”  
  
“I know,” is all he says. He feels strangely calm and guesses that he’s been given something to relax him on top of the pain medication.  
  
“Is there anyone we can call for you?”  
  
Jensen thinks of his sister, still blissfully unaware. Her world is about to come crashing down and Jensen hates that he’s not going to be able to cushion the blow for her. They’ve never really gotten along, nevertheless, she’s still his sister, the only sibling he has. The only family he has left. “My younger sister, Mackenzie. She’s spending the night at her friend’s house. Alona Tal, I think. I don’t know the number.”  
  
“Okay, we’ll alert the authorities and have them notify her. Do you have any other family? Anyone who can come and get you? Anyone who can take care of you?” The look on his doctor’s face is full of empathy.  
  
“No one local. My Aunt Samantha and my cousin Isabella live in Wyoming. They’ll come, but it may take a while. Can you also call my boy- my best friend, Jared?”  
  
Dr. Qualls nods so hard, he looks like a bobble-head figure. “Sure, you can give us the numbers and we’ll call them in the morning. You should try and get some rest until then. We’ve given you a mild sedative to help you sleep.” He leans down and gives Jensen a hug. It’s awkward, mostly because Jensen’s not expecting it, but it’s not unwelcome. Truth be told, he could really use a hug and the dorky doctor exudes compassion unlike anyone he’s ever met. Jensen likes him. With a final pat on his head, the doctor walks to the door and switches off the light on his way out.  
  
Jensen looks up at the ceiling. He doesn’t sleep.  
  
Nurses come and go for the next four hours, always tiptoeing in, surprised to see he’s still awake. They ask if he wants a stronger sedative, they beg him to close his eyes, they tsk and shake their heads when he stubbornly refuses.  
  
There’s a voice in his head and it hisses and it screeches and it sounds like a kettle boiling over if a kettle could form words. It sounds like the monster’s voice. The volume is soft, a low susurration. He can barely hear it. He can’t ignore it either.  
  
 _Want you...can’t have you...not yet...still too bright...but soon...soon...soon_  
  
At 7 am there’s a knock on his door. Jensen’s hoping to see Jared even though the nurses have told him visiting hours don’t start until nine o’clock. He’s disappointed by the entrance of a policeman. The cop gives him a name, but Jensen doesn’t care enough to remember it.   
  
All business, the cop gets right to the point, no pleasantries, no pretending he cares, no chitchat. Jensen’s fine with that. The quicker they can get this over with, the better.  
  
“Can you tell me what happened last night?”  
  
Jensen rubs his right hand through his sticky hair. At some point while he was under the effects of the Versed, someone cleaned off his makeup, but his hair still has all the gel and dye in it from the show. He’s looking forward to taking a shower as soon as the cop leaves. “I got home at about 12:45 am. My-”  
  
“Where were you?” the cop interrupts.   
  
Confused by the accusatory tone, Jensen stammers, “I-I was out with my f-friend, Jared.”  
  
“Mmm-hmm, what’s Jared’s last name? I’ll need to speak with him to corroborate your story.”   
  
Jensen frowns. “But Jared didn’t come inside my house. He didn’t see what happened.”  
  
“If he’s your alibi, I’ll need to speak with him.”   
  
Alibi? Only suspects need alibis. Is he a suspect? Jensen is stunned into speechlessness, gapping at the policeman who only stares back at him like a predator ready to pounce on easy prey. When he finally manages to force words past his numb lips, they sound breathy and childish, but Jensen barely notices. “Do you...do you think I killed my mom and dad?”  
  
“Did you?’  
  
The cold, callous tone the cop uses to ask that question kindles a fire inside Jensen and a surge of anger temporarily burns away the apathy he’s been floating in. “No, I didn’t,” he states firmly, all traces of bewilderment gone.  
  
“If that’s the case, where were you between ten o’clock and midnight last night?”  
  
“I told you, I was out with my friend Jared _Padalecki_ ,” Jensen emphasizes the last name. “He and his brother Jeff came and picked me up from my house at around 9 o’clock and they dropped me off at 12:45.”  
  
The cop scribbles notes on a pad of paper the whole time Jensen talks. “Okay, what happened after you got home?”   
  
“I went upstairs to tell my parents I was back. Before I got to their room...I don’t know what to call it, a monster I guess, appeared in the hallway. I tried to get past it, tried to get to my parents’ room to warn them, and it did something to my shoulder.” Jensen stops, reviews what he’s just said in his mind. It sounds crazy. _He_ sounds crazy. It’s the truth though, so he ploughs on. “Then it disappeared. My parents weren’t moving. I could see they needed help so I called 911.” Setting his jaw, Jensen blinks away the sting in his eyes. He hasn’t cried over his loss yet, hasn’t let himself dwell on the empty crater in his heart, or the despair for what his bleak future holds, and he won’t do it in front of this asshole cop.  
  
The policeman narrows his eyes. “A monster? Your doctor says you mentioned a monster when you were brought in. He thought it was just a result of the trauma you’d been through. Are you telling me you believe an _actual_ monster killed your parents?”  
  
Jensen winces at the harsh words. The images that come to his mind - his unsuspecting parents being attacked by that hulking, yellow-eyed beast, the terror they must have felt as they died - make him feel like a steel band is constricting his chest. His face gets hot while icy tendrils entwine his arms and legs, slithering down his spine. “A monster did kill my parents,” he insists. “It was like a shadow come to life, smoky-black with no face except two yellow eyes.”  
  
Without any pause the cop says, “Okay kid...if that’s the story you want to stick with.” He pauses like he’s waiting for Jensen to retract his version of what happened. When Jensen simply sets his jaw and stares back, his expression hardens. “I have another question for you. The paramedics say you were wearing black makeup around your eyes and leather clothes? Do you always dress like that?”  
  
What the hell that has to do with anything, Jensen has no clue. He gets the distinct impression that the cop has already drawn a conclusion about people who wear leather and makeup and it isn’t a flattering one. “I was at Rocky Horror last night,” he says flatly. Let him make what he will of that.  
  
Clicking his pen closed, the cop fixes Jensen with a steely gaze. “That’s all I’ve got for now. I’ll go talk to...” he flips his notebook back a page. “Jared Pad-a-lecki and be back in touch. Don’t leave town.”  
  
After everything he’s been through, the last thing Jensen thought he’d have to worry about was being suspected of having anything to do with his mom and dad’s deaths. It never occurred to him that he was going to have to explain to people - lots of people, people in roles of authority, people with control over his life - what happened and that they might not believe him. And now that he’s come face to face with that cruel skepticism in the flesh, he doesn’t know what to do. Lying, coming up with a story that will be more believable might be the smart thing to do, but it would feel like he was dishonoring his parents. They deserve for everyone to know the truth about what happened to them. And what if others are in danger? Doesn’t he have a responsibility to let them know what’s out there, hiding in the shadows?  
  
He decides then and there that he won’t lie or try to cover up the truth with a more believable story.   
  
No matter what.


	9. You're into the Time Slip

**Now**  
  
Lights on lamp poles illuminate the parking lot in small halos every twenty-five feet or thereabouts, leaving splotches of gloom everywhere else. The quarter moon overhead gives off only a feeble sheen which barely serves to outline the tops of the taller trees against the night sky. Past the parking lot, the only other light comes from the gift shop. Although locked up tight, the building has security lighting at the front door.   
  
At this late hour, the gardens are totally vacant, not a soul in sight. Jensen parks in the tour bus area because it’s closest to the entrance. There’s no point in secrecy. He has an appointment, after all.  
  
Misha isn’t in the car with him. He’d dropped his partner off about a mile away and waited the twenty minutes it should take for Misha to covertly reach his pre-planned position, a spot close to where they’ve decided the rendezvous will most likely take place. From his vantage point, he’ll be able to see the entrance and a portion of the parking lot.  
  
Jensen has changed into jeans and a flannel shirt, but he still has his FBI issued Glock in a side holster. The firearm is concealed by his jacket which he also wore to protect him against the not-quite-springlike temperatures experienced by Kentucky in March after the sun goes down. In his jacket pocket is a flashlight which he doesn’t expect to need. Better safe than sorry though.  
  
Before getting out of the car, Jensen scans the area. A steady breeze ripples the leaves and branches of the plants nearby. Other than that, there’s no movement. The garden looks deserted. This may be a bust, mysterious note writer a no show. Or he/she may just be an overly cautious, paranoid individual who trusts no one, as the cryptic message suggests, and is hiding until sure Jensen came alone.  
  
Noting the time as exactly midnight, Jensen exits his vehicle and walks up the cobblestone path, all five senses on high alert. A deep breath in brings only the fresh scents of rich soil and pine. The only sounds he hears are the rustling of branches and the sighing of wind through the many trees, bushes, and flowers in the garden proper. His eyesight is compromised by the darkness. Peering intently into the tree-lined spaces around the gift shop discloses little, certainly nothing that looks like a skulking person.  
  
The back of his neck prickles. The unmistakable feeling of being watched makes his fingers itch for his gun. Whether the sensation comes from Misha in his stake-out post or from the person he’s here to meet, Jensen can’t tell. In any case, it’s in his job description to outwardly remain cool and calm no matter the situation. He performs his job now, hands relaxed by his sides, face a mask of confidence as he skirts around the ticket booth and approaches the gift shop from the side, unwilling to ruin his limited night vision by looking directly at the lights above the front door. There’s no one crouching in the bushes there so Jensen continues toward the back of the building and then on to the other side. No one there either.  
  
Disappointment spreads through him like wet cement, stiffening his limbs. If this turns into a big, fat nothing, he might as well wave bye-bye to his sanity right here and now. Might as well fly right over the cuckoo’s nest because he’s done. Done trying to keep the voice from infiltrating his mind and done with the nightmares and done with the never-ending, soul-crushing anxiety. Just goddamn, mother-fucking done.  
  
He looks down the path that leads into the main garden, bringing up the mental map of the layout he committed to memory earlier. He’s not giving up until he’s searched behind every plant and tree in there, looked under every rock. Not even the pitch darkness or the gnawing sense of foreboding will stop him from finding his quarry or at least a clue that may have been left behind. Something that will give him a direction to go in from here. Stubbornness has always been one of his defining characteristics; why should now be any different?  
  
He just hopes Misha will figure out a way to follow while remaining undetected.  
  
As he walks into the garden, he’s grateful admission seems to be on the honor system. There’s no fence to jump over, no gate to unlock. Past the dim glow of the gift shop lights, it’s dark, like really, really dark. The only way he knows he’s still on the path is the feel and scrape of paving stones under his feet. He’s about to pull out his flashlight (to hell with trying to preserve his nonexistent night vision) when he hears it - a crackling snap that can only be a branch crunched underfoot.  
  
He pivots toward the sound at the same time as a feeble beam of light appears, originating from a man-shaped blob standing amidst several tall, stalk-like plants. “Jensen, I presume,” says a man’s cultured voice. It isn’t one Jensen recognizes. “I’m glad you came.”  
  
“Who are you? How do you know who I am?” Jensen demands, squinting at the figure. The light, which seems to be coming from a cell phone - possibly a flashlight app - isn’t particularly strong. The man’s face is so obscured that it’s difficult to pick out any identifying features. Jensen can tell he’s tall, approximately the same height and slightly stockier than himself, and clean shaven. That’s about all.  
  
The man makes a show of shining the light in a large arc around him and asks, “You weren’t followed, were you?”  
  
“No,” Jensen snaps, exasperation surpassing relief at finding his secret admirer. “Now answer my question, who the hell are you?”  
  
Exhaling loudly, Mister Cloak and Dagger takes a few steps closer and holds his cell so that it illuminates his own face as though he’s getting ready to tell a spooky story around a campfire. “I’m sorry about all the theatrics. Truly, I am. It’s just...there are a lot of people who would be extremely angry if they knew I was talking to you.”  
  
By the improved lighting, Jensen can see dark brown hair parted on the side and a grey sweater-vest. The guy looks like a cross between Mr. Rogers and a college professor. He’s about the least threatening person Jensen could have imagined meeting during a stealthy midnight rendezvous.  
  
Despite all that, Jensen’s not feeling at his most patient. The eerie lighting coupled with the constant rustling of leaves all around them is putting him on edge, not to mention the jittery, crawling need he feels just beneath the surface of his skin to find out what this man knows. **_Now_**. His jaw aches with how hard it’s clenched. “Your name,” he manages to say through gritted teeth.  
  
“Oh, right, yes. My name is David. David Haydn-Jones.” This last part he says quickly, running the name together like if he says it fast enough, Jensen won’t remember it. Fat chance of that, Jensen never forgets a name or a face.   
  
“Okay, why did you want to meet me? And why here? And who would be angry we were talking?” There are more questions. So many more questions. It takes an act of massive willpower not to just grab the guy and start shaking him until the answers spill out. Instead, he takes a breath and consciously unclenches his jaw. The ache in his cheeks recedes as the muscles relax.  
  
David shifts from foot to foot, eyes roving the surrounding gloom. “I have the information you’ve been searching for about Alistair. My colleagues at the institute have devoted their whole lives to this research. I believe they would go to any lengths to keep it secret.”  
  
Jensen doesn’t dare let hope flicker to life yet. The aftermath of hope has only ever been devastation. “Who is Alistair? It’s the monster, isn’t it?”  
  
“Alistair isn’t a monster, not really. It’s a denizen from an alternate reality. From what we can tell, it is drawn to sadness. But you already know that, don’t you?”  
  
It rankles that this man has him at such a disadvantage. “How do you know so much about me?”  
  
“I’m sorry. Let me start from the beginning. Your friend AJ is one of my colleagues at the Men of Letters, a group of physicists who have made it their life’s work to prove the existence of alternate realities, dimensions other than our own. Mark Pellegrino was our founder and he brought on a few select others, including AJ and myself.” David pauses, eyes staring past Jensen. “We were so idealistic back then.”  
  
The idea that AJ, one of his most trusted friends, one of the people he lives with and thinks of as family, is somehow mixed up in his nightmare turns Jensen’s stomach inside out. “What does all this have to do with me?”  
  
“Well, we were successful. No, we were beyond successful. Not only did we prove the existence of another dimension, we actually created a doorway between the two worlds, and Alistair, the monster as you call it, was able to pass through. At first, we didn’t know what havoc we had wrought. We believed we had it contained, that we could learn from it and then send it back. Unfortunately, it escaped and killed your parents.”  
  
Jensen inhales sharply and chokes on nothing at all. Through the coughing fit that ensues, he rasps, “Why? Why my parents?”  
  
David puts a hand out like he wants to pound Jensen on the back, but then lowers it, apparently smart enough to know that touching him at this point would be a very bad idea. Once Jensen has stopped hacking, David says, “Our research suggests that Alistair can sense emotions. Strong emotions are like a beacon to it. Some people are naturally more expressive, more...effervescent, if you will. They shine more brightly. Have you ever heard the term ‘he wears his heart on his sleeve’?”  
  
Unable to talk, Jensen nods. His mother’s laughter, her sparkling eyes, the way she lit up a room just by walking into it. She fit that description to the letter.  
  
“Alistair can’t resist those types of people, especially when the emotion they are feeling strongest is grief. Once it senses them, it is able to teleport directly to them. Its abilities are quite remarkable. By touching them, it leaches away their life essence, usually through their mouths. To a medical examination, it appears as though death was caused by asphyxiation.”  
  
Jensen closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. “It couldn’t kill me though. It tried. But something stopped it.”  
  
“Yes, you repelled it. We were never able to figure out how. AJ wanted to study you more closely to see if he could find out. It was his idea to befriend you. He thought he might be able to discover your secret and use it to better control Alistair. We’ve been researching ways to control it ever since it turned on Pellegrino and killed him. Its time in our world is limited to only an hour each time we summon it or it breaks through the seals we’ve put on the doorway between our worlds. Research is difficult under those limited conditions. Plus, there’s the fact that it keeps escaping and killing people. Our funding is based on finding a way to control it, but-”   
  
Anger has been building throughout David’s monologue until Jensen is fairly shaking with it. “Forget trying to control it. How can we kill it?”   
  
“Easier to show you than to tell you.” David taps at his phone until, satisfied with the result, he holds the device out for Jensen to see.  
  
A video is playing on the screen. Jensen can’t make it out from a distance, the screen is too small. He’s about to get closer when he smells it - an odor like decaying flesh, acrid and vinegary. His nostrils flare.  
  
Behind him, a familiar voice says, “Now you’ve done it David. His death is on your hands, not mine. You’ve signed his death warrant by contacting him. I’ve been closely monitoring his movements for over a year now, privy to any discoveries he might make about our friend here. I could have kept him running in circles forever if you’d left well enough alone.”  
  
Heart pounding, Jensen spins and pulls his gun at the same time. As though they’d just finished a leisurely nighttime stroll and were headed back toward the entrance, two dark figures stand on the path about a dozen yards further into the garden. From the voice, Jensen knows one of them is his housemate, AJ. The other hulking shape is the beast from his nightmares. Face to face with the horror that has tormented him since he was fifteen years old, Jensen feels like his insides are liquefying, muscles slack and useless. A chill sweeps through his body from head to toe.  
  
 _Never get tired of you...my pet...my bright one...have you at last_  
  
Jensen squeezes the trigger, one, two, three, four times. The bullets find their mark...and go straight through the Shadow’s torso where a heart would be in a human. It writhes in seeming discomfort, but otherwise stays stationary by AJ’s side. Jensen’s blood turns to ice in his veins.  
  
David puts his hands up in a placating manner, speaking to AJ like the gun in Jensen’s hand is of no consequence whatsoever, no threat to anyone. “The deaths, AJ. Too many deaths. It’s time to put a stop to it.”  
  
“I’ve found a way to stop the deaths, just as I told you I would. Can’t you see that I control it? I told you I was close to discovering a way and now I have. Alistair does my bidding.” AJ’s voice has a mad ring to it. He sounds like the AJ Jensen has known for the past year and also not, tone gone slightly off kilter. “I can summon it from the void and send it back. It won’t find a way to slip the leash again.”  
  
The longer that thing - the Shadow, Alistair, whatever - stands there looking at him, yellow eyes shining in the darkness, the harder it is for Jensen to breathe. It feels like his throat is closing up, airflow a mere trickle. He needs to take charge, put an end to this freakish standoff. “AJ, if you don’t destroy that monster, I will.” He projects as much authority as he’s capable of under the circumstances and hopes it’s enough.  
  
“I’m sorry about this Jensen, I really am. I liked you. It’s nothing personal.” The regret in AJ’s tone turns cold with his next words as his silhouette faces the monster. “You can have him. He’s yours.”  
  
The Shadow roars, a joyful, victorious, terrifying sound, and surges forward. Jensen stands his ground, crazily thinking happy thoughts like some kind of bizarro-world Peter Pan. It’s the only defense he knows, the only thing he can do other than turn and run and he’s definitely **not** running away. There’s no time to put together anything that even remotely resembles a plan. As the hideous monster slams into him, Jensen drops his gun and wraps his hands around its neck. His fingers sink into the doughy clay-like flesh, gaining no purchase, nothing to strangle or squeeze.   
  
The pain is instantaneous and absolute, an electric shock that courses through him, torching every nerve ending and rendering him as limp as a rag doll. His consciousness flickers. He hears shouting and gunshots. There’s a flying sensation, an impact that sends bolts of agony through his head and shoulder, and then nothing.  
  
***~~***~~***~~***  
  
Awareness is elusive. It comes in fits and starts. The first thing of which Jensen becomes aware, even before he tries to move, is that everything hurts. It’s a dull, ethereal soreness that expands and grows the more alert he becomes until it encapsulates his whole world.  
  
“Jense? Can you hear me?”   
  
The words penetrate the fog in his brain. He tries to answer, but his response turns to mush in his mouth and all he’s able to produce is a weak groan.   
  
“Okay easy, take it easy. Can you open your eyes?”  
  
Opening his eyes takes a few attempts and, once he accomplishes the feat, he has a fleeting thought that he’s gone blind because all he sees is mottled grey and black.  
  
“That’s it. You’re doing good. Don’t try to move yet. You’ve been out of it for a while. I think you have a concussion and it looks like your shoulder is dislocated.”  
  
Concussion. That might explain his blurry vision. Jensen turns his head, ignoring the knife that seems to be wedged in his skull. The fuzzy, indistinct faces that keep sliding in and out of focus eventually resolve into one face, Misha’s face. He starts putting things together. 1) He’s not blind, it’s dark. 2) He’s lying on the ground outside. 3) Misha is hovering over him. Fuck. What the hell happened?  
  
“What happened?” he asks.  
  
“What do you remember?” Misha asks, picking up Jensen’s hand and encircling his wrist with the fingers of his other hand. It takes Jensen’s muddled brain a few uncomfortable seconds to realize his partner is checking his pulse, not holding his hand.  
  
Thinking hurts. Jensen does it anyway, tries to remember what he was doing outside in the middle of the night. He comes up empty. “I got nothing,” he rasps. “Can I buy a vowel, Vanna?”  
  
Misha’s mouth turns down in a worried little frown. “You don’t remember coming here to meet with the person who wrote that note? You don’t remember getting thrown into a tree?”  
  
At mention of the monster, the night’s events come flooding back like a bad dream. The phantom blade twists viciously inside his skull and he jackknifes into a sitting position, his only working hand grasping at his head as though trying to stop his brain matter from oozing out.  
  
“Hey! Hey, careful. Lie back down,” Misha soothes, pushing gently on his chest to get him to comply. “We don’t know what other injuries you have. I already called 911, the ambulance should be here soon.”  
  
“What? No! No ambulance, Misha. Where’s the Shadow? Did it get away? What about AJ? Tell me what happened.” Batting Misha’s restraining hand away, Jensen stumbles to his feet, groggy and unsteady, left arm hanging uselessly at his side, but at least he’s vertical. He’ll take what he can get. Yeah, he feels like roadkill, but this is too important. He’s already lost more time than he can afford.  
  
Misha heaves a long-suffering sigh and gives up on getting Jensen to take it easy. “I saw you head into the garden, but I held back since I didn’t want to blow my cover and scare our mystery man away.”  
  
“David, his name was David,” Jensen supplies.  
  
“David. I didn’t want to scare David away. By the time I found a spot to observe the meeting where I would not be seen, you had your gun drawn and were firing shots into the dark, at who or what, I could not tell. It was too dark. I didn’t see it until it was upon you.” Misha hesitates. “Dear God above, Jensen. What was that thing?”  
  
“That was the Shadow,” Jensen says, voice gone husky.  
  
“That was the Shadow,” Misha repeats as though it’s only now sinking in that the monster isn’t in fact a fantasy cooked up by a deeply troubled kid. Jensen wonders how truthful Misha has been all these years when he assured him that he believed. Maybe he was only being a supportive friend. And really, can Jensen blame him?  
  
“What happened next?” He needs to know what went down so he can decide where to go from here. A wave of vertigo nearly topples him, only a nearby tree saves him from going down. And wouldn’t that just convince Misha that he doesn’t need a hospital.  
  
“I came to your assistance, fired at it. I think I got a head shot. Didn’t kill it, but it was visibly distressed. It threw you into that tree and disappeared.” Misha indicates the tree Jensen is currently leaning against.  
  
“That’s good to know. My shots to the chest had no affect other than to make it squirm a little, almost like they tickled. Apparently, it doesn’t have a heart, not in its chest at any rate.”  
  
Misha makes a noise of agreement. “AJ and David fled in opposite directions. You’ll have to tell me later what your housemate was doing here. Anyway, you weren’t moving, and I didn’t want to leave you to pursue them.” If Jensen didn’t know his partner better, he’d say Misha sounds the tiniest bit defensive. “Your hands were coated in that black residue. I cleaned you up as best I could and tended your wounds.”  
  
Jensen’s chest tightens. Without AJ or David he’s got no way of knowing how to stop the Shadow. He’s back to ground zero with nothing to show for the night’s activities other than a headache and a bum arm.   
  
A soft glow on the ground where David had been standing during their too-short meeting catches his attention. Shuffling over, he bends down, narrowly avoiding yet another impromptu meeting between face and ground. Jeez, he needs to get this dizziness under control, pronto.   
  
The glowing object is David’s cell, lying upside down in the dirt.  
  
The video is still playing.  
  
Yahtzee!


	10. And Nothing Will Even be the Same

**Then**  
  
The loud bang of his door flying open heralds Jared’s arrival two hours later. He bounds into the room like a frantic puppy, eyes wide and tragic. “Jensen, I’ve been going out of my mind ever since I found out. They wouldn’t let me come see you ‘til now.”  
  
“Jared,” Jensen croaks past a huge lump in his throat. The protective shell of emotional lethargy he’s been hiding behind cracks a little in the face of his best friend’s concern.  
  
In an instant, Jared is across the room to the bed where Jensen sits, long arms wrapping around his shoulders, careful of his injuries and the sling holding his left arm tight against his chest. “Is this okay?” he asks. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
They’ve always been more tactile with each other than strict friendship generally allows. That being said, hugging isn’t all that common for them. They’re more than just friends now though - the kiss they shared makes them more - and Jensen needs this hug. He isn’t going to deny himself the one good thing he has left in his life. He grabs the fabric of Jared’s collar at the back of his neck and holds on tight, burying his face in the soft t-shirt. “Yeah,” he whispers. “This is okay.”  
  
They stay like that for a long time, not talking, just soaking up each other’s warmth. Jensen feels himself settle. He feels more like himself with Jared here and less like the poor kid in room 506 whose parents are dead. Eventually, Jared pulls away, only far enough that he can put his hands on either side of Jensen’s face, tilting his head up so they’re staring deeply into one another’s eyes. “Jensen, I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay, I know you aren’t. No one could be after going through what you’ve been through. But I’m here. I’m not going to let you deal with this alone. Whatever happens next, we’ll face it together. Alright?”  
  
Jensen nods, grateful for Jared’s strength. It strikes him as ironic that all during their freshman year he was the one looking after Jared, providing encouragement, building up his self-esteem, his self-confidence, bringing him out of his shy little bubble, and now Jared is the strong one, giving him a sturdy foundation to lean on while he regains his footing. It’s almost like he loaned his courage to Jared and now Jared is giving it back. He feels a profound sense of peace, thinking that when one of them falters the other will always be there to pick up the slack.  
  
Dr. Qualls comes in and finds them still wrapped around each other. He seems pleased to see that Jensen has a friend here for him. After checking Jensen’s shoulder again, looking over the notations made in his chart by the night shift nurses, and giving him a prescription for pain meds, he says, “My shift is over now, but I’ll give the order for your discharge papers to be drawn up before I go. That is, assuming you have somewhere to go?” He looks at Jared.  
  
Jared goes all little-boy shy, giving Jensen his best puppy-dog eyes, dewy and hopeful. “You can stay with us. I already talked my mom into it. She’s agreed to take custody of you until your family can get here. We weren’t sure how long that might be because I know you don’t have any family close by.”  
  
It’s strange having these types of decisions made for him. Not bad strange, just...strange. Jensen supposes it’s a good thing since he hasn’t thought about that kind of stuff himself; where he’s going to stay, what he’s going to do past the here and now. He’s been actively avoiding all thoughts about his future.  
  
“We’ve called your Aunt.” Dr. Qualls’ face falls. “She’s...Jensen, I’m so sorry, but she’s dealing with a family tragedy as well. Her daughter died yesterday. She won’t be able to come. Not right away.”  
  
Isabella is dead. Sweet Isabella, same age as Mackenzie. It can’t be possible. Jensen can feel the mind-numbing lassitude creeping back over him. The scrap of vitality Jared’s presence had brought him ebbs away.  
  
His doctor tells him a social worker will be by to speak with him sometime within the next couple days. Since he’s being released into Mr. and Mrs. Padalecki’s custody, the hospital will need their contact information for the discharge papers. He also gives Jensen the name and number for a therapist and recommends that he call to schedule his first appointment as soon as possible.  
  
Jensen sits and listens and some of the information penetrates the murky haze, but most of it floats off into obscurity. He nods and agrees without really knowing what he’s agreeing to. It all takes on a surreal quality.  
  
Once he’s done talking, Dr. Qualls gives Jensen another clumsy, bony hug. Then he hugs Jared. The look on Jared’s face, startled and uncomfortable as hell, would be amusing if Jensen wasn’t having so much trouble remembering why the doctor was even here.  
  
 _Mine...the bond formed can’t be broken...mine forever_  
  
The voice is getting louder, the words more distinct, even though it still sounds like it’s coming from far away, being broadcast over a static-filled radio channel. Jensen lets go and gives in to the voice, letting the soft hiss sooth him as the monster continues to croon at him.  
  
“Jensen? Hey, Jen?” A tentative touch to his face brings him around. Jared is brushing the hair, freshly washed and free of product from his earlier shower, off his forehead and looking at him as if he’s something fragile.   
  
“Yeah?” he responds, looking around to find the doctor gone and Mrs. Padalecki standing in the doorway, a paper bag held awkwardly in her elegantly manicured hand. Jensen doesn’t remember her arrival.  
  
“I was saying that I’ve finished filling out your discharge papers.” She repeats, not unkindly. Crossing the room, she puts the bag on the bed near his feet. “A nurse gave me these, the clothes you were wearing when they brought you in, your wallet, and your keys. We can go as soon as you’re dressed. Those clothes probably won’t be very comfortable, but we can stop by your house and get some more of your things before we go home if you like.”  
  
Jensen can’t see the expression on his own face, but it must look as shattered as he feels because Jared quickly cuts in, “You can borrow some of my clothes.”  
  
“Okay,” Jensen says, relieved and grateful, oh so grateful, not to have to go back inside his house yet.  
  
He changes in the bathroom. The black leather no longer makes him feel liberated and adventurous, exactly the opposite in fact. As a hospital orderly wheels him out to the parking lot in a very unnecessary but apparently required wheelchair, he feels judged and condemned by every single person they pass. He keeps his head down, careful not to make eye contact with anyone.  
  
He climbs into the back seat of Mrs. Padalecki’s white Volvo and Jared gets in next to him, leaving Mrs. Padalecki alone in the front seat like a chauffeur. He rests his head against the window and closes his eyes. His shoulder hurts and he’s so tired he can hardly hold onto a thought for more than a couple seconds before it dissolves. He hopes that if it looks like he’s asleep, no one will ask him any questions. Either his ploy works, or Jared and his mom aren’t in the mood for conversation either. The car ride to Jared’s house is totally silent.  
  
***~~~***~~~***  
  
It’s not until he and Jared are alone in Jared’s bedroom that Jensen speaks again, curiosity getting the better of him. “Did the police talk to you?”  
  
Jared goes to his dresser and pulls out a pair of lightweight track pants and a navy-blue t-shirt. “Yes, that cop dude came by the house this morning. Woke everyone up. Said he needed to talk to me and Jeff.” He hands the clothes to Jensen. “Here, you can wear these.”  
  
Jensen takes them in his right hand, making no move to put them on. Getting dressed one-handed at the hospital had been difficult, but possible. The hospital gown came off easily, of course, and the sleeveless leather vest hadn’t proved an issue to get on, even with the shoulder sling in place. The hardest part had been pulling on the leather pants, but that had just been a matter of patience and persistence. With time he’d been able to get the job done.  
  
It’s the t-shirt that’s causing him to hesitate now. How’s he supposed to get his arm through the sleeve?  
  
Jared understands immediately. “I’ll help you,” he says.  
  
The shoulder sling is a two-part contraption. The part that fits over his clothing is a normal sling that his arm rests in to take the weight off his shoulder. The other part wraps around his shoulder itself under his clothes to keep it immobile. Jared gingerly unhooks the straps and removes the outer part. His agile fingers skim gently over Jensen’s skin as they work.  
  
Jensen shrugs his good shoulder out of the vest first, then Jared helps him ease the leather off his sore shoulder while supporting his arm. As careful as he is, the movement still jars the abused tendons holding the bones in place, sending a sharp pang radiating from his shoulder blade all the way down to his wrist, and Jensen can’t hold back the gasp.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” Jared murmurs. “Mom’s gone to fill your prescription. You can take some pain meds when she gets back.”  
  
“It’s alright. Thanks for helping me with this.” Heat suffuses his face and Jensen ducks his head. “It’s just embarrassing, you know? You having to dress me like I’m an invalid or something.”  
  
“Whatever dude. You’re hurt and you’re my boyfriend, of course I’m gonna help you.” Jared gets an oh-fuck-did-I-really-say-that-out-loud look on his face, eyes bright and round, lips pressed together as if to stop any other ill-advised words from spilling out.  
  
Jensen smiles for the first time since...well, for what seems like ages. “Boyfriend? Did you call me your boyfriend?” In part he’s teasing because he wants to give Jared a way to backtrack without this becoming too awkward between them. Another part wants to hear Jared confirm it, wants it to be true. He’s kind of been referring to Jared as his boyfriend ever since last night. Inside his head anyway.  
  
Jared mumbles a mortified “Shut up.” But a second later, he’s gazing at Jensen through a screen of his long, floppy hair. “I want you to be. Is that okay?”  
  
This, at least, is a slice of normalcy for Jensen. This, reassuring Jared, giving Jared the confidence he needs to show the world how amazing he is. This, Jensen knows how to do. “It’s okay, more than,” he says before closing the small distance between them and pressing their lips together in a chaste, but intense kiss.  
  
Jared’s lips, firm and slick against his own, spark something inside him. Warmth pools in his belly. The voice in his head stops its insistent yammering. Only once his head is clear again does Jensen realize how much he has surrendered to the voice. He can’t let himself surrender to it. It’s the shadow monster’s voice and it’s playing with him. He can’t let it win. Listening to it gives it power over him, he’s not sure how, but he knows it’s true. Kissing Jared makes it go away. Jared silences the voice.  
  
The kiss becomes more desperate. Jensen licks at Jared’s plush lips, begging entrance. He doesn’t have a ton of experience with kissing. A few games of spin the bottle played at friends’ houses when he was thirteen or fourteen, fumbling, mostly innocent brushes of lips in a dark closet, form the basis for the only practice he’s ever gotten. As far as he knows, Jared’s skill level is on the same par. The resulting kiss is maybe a bit sloppy, with perhaps more tongue than can really be called erotic or sexy. Still, Jensen is panting and hella turned on by the time Jared pulls away, an apologetic quirk to his smile.  
  
“We should probably talk about the boyfriend thing before we go much further,” Jared whispers, voice a little breathless.  
  
Jensen lets out a puff of air, disappointed even though he knows Jared is right. Plus, there are other things they need to talk about. Jared hasn’t asked yet and he’s grateful for the space his _boyfriend_ has been giving him, but he’s ready now. He needs to tell Jared what happened to his parents last night, needs to tell someone who truly cares about him in a personal way, not just in the way a doctor cares about a patient or in the way a policeman is supposed to care about a victim. He needs to tell someone who will understand and believe him. There’s no one in the world who understands him the way Jared does, especially now that his parents are...gone.  
  
Together they maneuver his arms into the borrowed t-shirt and get it over his head. It hurts, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Jared straps his left arm back into the outer sling. The sleepless night is catching up to him big time and exhaustion is taking a toll. Leather pants were not made for sleeping in. That’s the only reason he agrees to let Jared help him change into the comfy track pants.   
  
“Just sit on the bed. It’ll only take me a minute. If you insist on doing it yourself it’ll take fifteen like it did at the hospital,” Jared argues and Jensen has no choice but to agree.  
  
Jared is true to his word, his movements efficient, and he soon has Jensen completely outfitted in borrowed clothing. During the process, Jensen makes another discovery, Jared’s touch, not just his kiss, keeps the voice from invading his head. Each time Jared’s hands skim his legs, the voice fades out. When he pulls his hands away to tug on fabric, the voice starts up again. Jensen compares it to turning the radio on and off.  
  
“You look tired. You wanna lie down? I can go get you something to drink.” Jared turns to leave.  
  
Jensen grabs his hand. “Don’t go. Talk to me. Please.”  
  
Jared nods and sits next to him on the bed, their hips and thighs touching. “Of course. Whatever you need. I’m here for you.”  
  
Jensen closes his eyes for a moment, thinking of where he wants to start. It’s harder than usual to open them. God, he’s tired. “They thought I did it at first, did the cop tell you that? They thought I’d killed my own parents. You’re my alibi, you and Jeff.”  
  
Jared winces. “He didn’t come right out and say it, but we figured it out. He told us they’d set time of death around 10 pm and wanted to know if we could vouch for your whereabouts at that time.”  
  
A shiver runs down his spine. “If that’s true, it means the monster was in my house for hours after it killed them. What was it doing in there? Why did it hang around?” He’s talking to himself, not Jared. Jared doesn’t know that.  
  
“What monster? What are you talking about, Jen?” He snags the blanket from the foot of his bed and drapes it over Jensen’s shoulders. “You cold?”  
  
Jensen locks eyes with Jared, imploring his boyfriend to see the honesty there, to believe him. “When I got home last night, there was a monster in the upstairs hallway, a creature worse than any nightmare I’ve ever had. I don’t know how to describe it. It looked like it was made of smoke, the kind of smoke that billows out of factory smokestacks, only darker, blacker. It didn’t have a face, Jared. It d-didn’t have a f-face.” His voice gets progressively more strident, cracking on the last sentence, and he knows he sounds like he’s coming apart. He pauses to get his breathing back under control.  
  
“Take your time,” Jared says, brows furrowed. “It’s okay, just take your time.”  
  
“I thought I could push it out of the way if I rammed into it hard enough. It was blocking mom and dad’s room. I wanted to get to them, warn them.” Jensen is shivering for real now, his whole body trembling, reacting to his memories and the sheer relief at finally sharing them with Jared, someone who can help carry this unbelievably heavy load. He feels dizzy and lightheaded. “That’s how my shoulder got fucked up. I hurled myself at it as hard as I could. Shoulder took the brunt of it, I guess.”  
  
“That sounds horrifying. You were so brave. I don’t think I would have been that brave.” Jared puts an arm around him, turns sideways, and pulls him against his chest.  
  
Jensen goes with it; not sure he could stay upright without the support even if he wanted to right now; he’s shaking so hard. “I barely budged it, barely had any effect on it at all. It was saying crazy shit to me, stuff about...about how much it w-wanted me, how it couldn’t get me. It made no sense.” Tears begin tracking down his face. He sniffles and hides in the crook of Jared’s neck, heart hammering in his chest as images from the previous night play on the insides of his closed eyelids.   
  
Jared’s hand comes up to cup the back of his head. “Jesus, Jen.”  
  
“It disappeared after that, vanished, as in one second it’s there, the next second it’s gone. And m-my parents...Jared, it k-killed them. Why did it k-kill them?” He’s full-on crying at this point, breath hitching, snot and tears flowing. He’s a fucking mess and he can’t stop, he’s completely out of control. All his heartbreak, his fear, his confusion, he can’t hold them back any longer. His emotions overwhelm him. He feels like they’re crushing him, like he’s being buried alive.   
  
Jared’s embrace is the only thing keeping the weight from annihilating him. He clings to Jared and sobs unselfconsciously. Jared holds him and murmurs a bunch of nonsense that Jensen doesn’t really pay attention to. The words themselves hold little meaning, it’s the sound of Jared’s voice and the way his touch keeps the monster’s voice at bay and the utter exhaustion that eventually lull Jensen into a semi-asleep state.   
  
His breathing deepens, interrupted only occasionally by faint hiccups. He senses himself being lowered into a prone position, a pillow placed under his head, and his feet lifted onto the mattress. “Stay,” he slurs into the pillow when he sees Jared move toward the door through slitted eyes. “Y’keep the voice away, Jare. Don’ go.”  
  
The bed dips as Jared settles in next to him, turning on his side so that they’re face to face. “‘Course I’ll stay if that’s what you want. Sleep. I’ll be here.”  
  
“Gotta be touchin’ to make the voice stop.” Jensen demonstrates by twining their fingers together. “Like this, see?”  
  
“What voice, Jen?”  
  
Jensen’s heavy eyelids close; he can’t for the life of him get them open again. “The smoke monster’s voice. Talks to me all th’time. Won’t shut up,” he mumbles.  
  
“Okay, you sleep. We can talk more later.”  
  
“Do ya’ think Sam’n Dean could kill it?”  
  
“The monster? Yes, Sam and Dean could definitely kill it. Don’t worry, Jen.”  
  
The press of Jared’s lips against his temple is the last thing Jensen feels as he succumbs to a deep sleep.  
  
***~~***~~***~~***  
  
He wakes to the sound of raised voices coming from elsewhere in the house. He can’t hear what they’re saying through the bedroom door, but one of them is definitely Jared’s and the other sounds like Mrs. Padalecki.  
  
From Jared’s bedroom window, he can see the front yard and the driveway. Mr. Padalecki’s car isn’t parked outside, so he must not be home. Jensen wonders where he’s been all day. It’s Sunday so he’s probably not at work.  
  
Jared shouts something that sounds like, “Mom, wait. Just listen to me.”  
  
Mrs. Padalecki doesn’t answer, at least not that Jensen can hear.   
  
The pain in his shoulder has ratcheted up several notches since he left the hospital. Some pain meds would really be awesome right about now, and while he’s at it he should probably eat something; can’t take pain meds on an empty stomach anyway. The last time he ate was dinner, his mom’s salmon and rice. He’s not hungry, but he should be. He’s missed breakfast and lunch today so far. He decides to go down to the kitchen and see if he can maybe get a piece of toast and his prescription. Didn’t Jared say his mom had gone to get it filled?  
  
He pads downstairs, but stops in the foyer when he hears Mrs. Padalecki in the kitchen say, “Jared, I’m sorry. It’s not possible. He can’t stay here.”  
  
Jared’s voice sounds pissed, although he’s not shouting anymore. “How can you do this to him? He’s my best friend, no he’s more than that he’s my boyfriend, and he needs help!”  
  
“Yes, exactly! He needs help, help that we aren’t equipped to provide. You said it yourself; he thinks a monster killed his parents. He’s hearing voices. He’s not well, Jared.”  
  
“I never would have told you that if I’d known you were going to use it against him. I _never_ should have told you,” Jared seethes. “The only reason I did is that I thought you could give me some advice on how to help him. He’s scared and he’s hurting. He needs to be here with me, where I can help him through this, not in some...some...institution.”  
  
“I don’t know what else to do.” Mrs. Padalecki sounds tired, resigned. “The social worker will be here soon to get him. They’ll make sure he gets the help he needs. It’s for the best, son.”  
  
 _They’ve betrayed you...don’t want you...I want you...pretty boy_  
  
The monster sounds smug and for the first time Jensen wonders if he really is imagining the voice. Is he sick in the head? Then he rejects the idea. It’s real, he knows it is. He knows what he saw. He could never in a million year make up something like that.  
  
On legs that have gone numb, he walks into the kitchen.  
  
Both Jared and Mrs. Padalecki turn to look at him, guilty expressions on their faces.  
  
“Can I have a piece of toast before I go?” he asks quietly. “And my shoulder hurts. Can I have my pain meds?”  
  
“Jensen,” Jared says in a voice that sounds as if he’s being strangled. “Please, I don’t want this. I’ll find a way-“  
  
“I thought if anyone would believe me, it would be you. I love you, Jared.” Jensen isn’t angry. He’s just empty. He turns and goes back to Jared’s room.  
  
A little while later, Mrs. Padalecki comes up with his toast, water, and a bottle of pills. She tells him she’s sorry. She says she wishes things could be different. She talks about how the social worker promised her they would take good care of him, get him all the help he needed.  
  
Jensen doesn’t say anything.  
  
Jared comes and sits with him, holds his hand, kisses him, tears running down both their faces. “I’ll talk to her. She’ll change her mind. You’ll be back here with me soon. I believe you, Jen, I do. I’m sorry I doubted you. Please talk to me. Don’t be mad. I love you.”  
  
“I’m not mad,” Jensen says.  
  
When the social worker comes, Jared pulls him into a tight hug. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispers.  
  
Jensen gets into the social worker’s car and watches the Padalecki house until they turn a corner. Once it’s lost from sight he thinks ‘that’s it, now I’ve lost everything’. Inside his head he hears:  
  
 _Yes...that’s it, cry for me...yes...yes_


	11. You're Spaced Out on Sensation

**Now**  
  
Misha calls Chief Morgan and makes some excuse about a family emergency back home. They take the first available flight back to Virginia. It’s about a billion times worse than the one to Lexington had been. The change in air pressure does his headache no favors and his shoulder is swollen and hot to the touch.  
  
 _It hurts...I feel it...your pain is delicious_  
  
He’d been able to talk Misha into canceling the ambulance and had avoided the hospital by promising to have Ty patch him up once he got back to his house. He even called Ty and let Misha talk to him to prove he was serious about getting medical care. Ty is standing by at their house with all the medical paraphernalia he’ll need to pop Jensen’s shoulder back into its socket. This isn’t the first time he’s had to do it. Ever since his first encounter with the Shadow, his shoulder has been prone to dislocation.  
  
Jensen distracts himself from how uncomfortable he is by playing the video on David’s phone. He watches it over and over again. The video starts in a lab with sterile white cinderblock walls and bright fluorescent lights. A large whiteboard takes up most of one wall, mathematical symbols and equations drawn haphazardly over its surface. Sitting on a table off to the side is what appears to be an older model Macintosh computer. A very young AJ stands next to a middle-aged man Jensen doesn’t recognize. Judging from AJ’s youth in the video, it must have been shot about ten to fifteen years ago - right around the time Jensen’s parents were killed.  
  
“We’re making this video to document the achievements of the Men of Letters in the field of interdimensional studies,” the older man says while Young AJ gazes at him, an expression of awestruck hero-worship on his face. “My colleagues and I have done what many thought impossible. Not only have we proven that other dimensions exist, but we have created a doorway into one.”  
  
“The ramifications of our discovery are countless,” Young AJ cuts in excitedly. “We’ve already made contact with a being from the Void Dimension. We named it the Void Dimension because it’s a vast empty expanse. We can’t go there, not yet, but we’re experimenting with bringing one of its denizens here to our dimension. Think of the things we’ll be able to learn from it!”  
  
The older physicist gives Young AJ an obvious cool-your-jets-junior look and continues, “I think what my young counterpart here is trying to say is that we have a lot of hard work ahead of us. While our achievement is indeed noteworthy, there is yet much study to be done. We are in talks with both the governmental and private sectors to obtain more funding for our research.” The video continues as the older scientist goes into detail about their discoveries and the process for opening a door into the void dimension.   
  
About halfway through, the video fades to black and when it starts up again, AJ appears on screen with three other men. The older physicist is gone and AJ appears close to his current age. They aren’t looking directly at the camera, but at a sizzling, crackling line of what can only be pure energy, like a lighting bolt captured and held in stasis.  
  
The setting has changed. Gone are the plain cinderblock walls and austere backdrop. The four men stand in a well-appointed, high-tech center. It looks less like a laboratory and more like a corporate boardroom, resplendent with glass walls, chrome fixtures, and dark wood furniture. A large sign mounted on the wall reads ‘Men of Letters’ in flowing script. Apparently, they’d received the funding they were hoping for.  
  
AJ glances over at the camera. “Are you getting this?”  
  
“Yes,” answers David’s voice. “But are you sure you can control it?”  
  
“The words have to be exact. Pellegrino got them wrong, that’s all. This time will be different.” AJ holds up a hand. “Are you ready?  
  
The three other men move to surround the energy bolt, expressions grim. They each hold a canister of salt in one hand and a metallic rod in the other.  
  
“Alastair, I call you forth. By your name I command you to do my bidding.” AJ intones. The words sound strangely ritualistic and not at all scientific. He then flips a switch on a black box the size of a car battery and electricity arcs up, connecting the box to the sparking, vertical line. It pulses and the energy field expands. A black shape forms and the men hastily pour the salt onto the floor so that the Shadow - Alastair - emerges from the interdimensional doorway into a roughly-shaped salt circle.   
  
Alastair. Jensen now has a name to go with his nightmares.   
  
The facility in the video is brightly lit and, even on the grainy cell phone screen, the creature takes on more definition than Jensen has ever seen before. The first time he’d seen it, in his childhood home, the hallway had been dark and everything had happened so fast. Other than the exact shade of its yellow eyes, Jensen hadn’t picked up on many details. The same was true of last night’s encounter, too dark, too much frenzied activity all happening at once.  
  
But now, he can see Alastair in all its hideousness. What he had taken for a roiling smoke-like texture to its skin, he can now see are writhing black boils covering it’s entire body, including its face. They expand and ooze pus, then shrink as new ones swell to take their place, erupting their oily discharge. Every time he gets to this part of the video, his mouth floods with saliva, his heart beats a frantic rhythm, and his blood runs cold.   
  
Misha keeps shooting him worried glances.  
  
Although contained within the circle, Alastair screeches and lunges at one of the three scientists. He panics and scrambles backwards, In his clumsy haste, his foot disrupts the crystal circle. Alastair surges forward. The scientists scatter in all directions.  
  
The video fades to black.  
  
It starts up again; this time David is center screen.  
  
“You see now why I have to stop it - Alastair. Too many have died. AJ says he can control it, that we’ll be famous. I used to believe him. I don’t anymore. I’m going to tell you how to kill it. I’m too scared to do it myself. I’m a coward. A coward and a fool.” David scrubs his face with both hands. When he looks back at the camera, his eyes are bloodshot.  
  
He proceeds to give detailed instructions on how to summon and kill Alastair. It sounds like witchcraft, magic, something supernatural. Not like physics at all. Not the form Jensen always thought an advancement to the next level of applied scientific knowledge would take. Then again, the technology we use routinely today would definitely look like witchcraft to the people of the middle-ages.  
  
A defeated-looking David ends the video by saying, “Alastair feeds off suffering. His own dimension is a wasteland. We created a link between our two dimensions, and he’ll keep using it unless he is stopped.”  
  
Jensen reaches for the play button again, but Misha stops him, grabbing his hand and pressing it back onto the airplane seat armrest.  
  
“That’s enough, Jense. You must have watched it at least twenty times now. You’ve probably got the damned thing memorized. Give it a rest.”  
  
Jensen turns scratchy, dull eyes on his partner. “It distracts me, Mish.”  
  
Misha frowns. “Distracts you from what? The voice?”  
  
“Yes, it’s getting more agitated...more hostile. Ever since I woke up in the park.”  
  
Misha’s frown deepens. “Why didn’t you say anything?”  
  
Jensen shrugs. “No point. Anyway, I know how to end it now. As soon as I get home, Alastair is gonna be pining for the fjords.” He tries to smile, but he’s beyond exhausted. All he can muster is a slight twitch of his lips.  
  
“Once I get you home, you are going to let Ty fix your shoulder and treat your concussion like you promised. Then you need to rest before I help you end that shadow thingy.” Misha fixes him with a hard glare. “You are not alone in this. You _will_ let me help you.”  
  
Jensen doesn’t disagree...out loud.  
  
***~~***~~***~~**  
  
Misha drives him home from the airport because he’s too wrecked to find a way home himself. Driving is out of the question. Even pulling up the Uber app seems like a monumental task. The headache throbbing behind his eyes is making him nauseous and he may have a fever. There is good news, however; his left arm no longer hurts when the damaged bones in his shoulder grate against one another. His entire arm from shoulder to fingers is numb. That counts as good news, right?  
  
The walk from Misha’s car to his front door nearly does him in. He barely remembers swinging his legs out of the car so it’s with some surprise that he finds himself already on the front porch, supported by Misha’s arm around his waist, his good arm slung over Misha’s shoulder, while they wait for someone to let them in.  
  
“I have a key,” he remembers, fumbling weakly in his pockets, Misha’s arm the only thing keeping him upright.  
  
Before he can find his key, the door swings open. Ty stands in the entryway. He takes one look at the way Jensen is drooping from Misha’s arms, dead on his feet, and jumps forward to help. “Hey big guy, how you doing?” he asks, voice pitched low and gruff like a walking, talking teddy bear.  
  
“Living the dream,” Jensen mumbles. He can hear the slur in his own words. Man, is he beat.  
  
Ty gets an arm around his other side and, between the two men, Jensen is basically carried inside.  
  
“Jensen, we need to get you lying down on the couch so I can get a better look at you, see what you’ve done to yourself this time. But I gotta warn you about something first.” Ty pauses to kick the front door shut. “You have company. I tried to get him to come back later, told him it was a bad time, that I’d give you his contact information soon as you got back. Guy wouldn’t leave, said it was important that he see you and, long story short...he’s waiting for you in the living room.” Ty makes a shrugging facial expression, lips downturned at the corners.  
  
The timing couldn’t possibly be worse. He doesn’t have time for anyone right now, couldn’t entertain a guest if his life depended on it, and besides, he doesn’t know anyone who might come by for a visit other than Misha and maybe Kane, although if Kane were to come by for a visit, it wouldn’t be Jensen he was here to see. Jensen’s headache shoots pain to the back of his skull, reminding him that if he stands here much longer, he’s going to puke.  
  
He takes a step toward the promised couch. He figures the mysterious visitor will take one look at how fucked up he is and beat it out of there.   
  
Misha and Ty have to move with him or risk a Jensen puddle on the foyer floor. The three of them stumble gracelessly into the living room like they’re practicing for a miss-matched, four-legged race. At first, all Jensen sees of his so-called visitor is the back of a head; shoulder length chestnut-colored hair. Then, the dude stands. He’s tall with broad shoulders that taper to a slim waist and legs that go on for miles.  
  
Jensen stops, pulling the other two to a halt beside him. There’s something heartbreakingly familiar about the figure standing in his living room. Before the man even turns around, Jensen to knows who it is.  
  
Jared.  
  
All the air rushes from his lungs. The room begins to spin in dizzying circles.  
  
Through the buzzing in his ears, he hears Ty say, “Jensen? Shit. Get him to the couch. Hurry.”  
  
“What’s wrong with him?” Jared asks. Because it is Jared. Jared is _here_. His Jared. The one he’s been looking for, hoping he’d get to see again someday, even if only so he can ask ‘why’. _His_ Jared is here.  
  
Jensen gets dragged over to the couch, legs heavy and boneless. He has about a million questions. What happened to you? Where have you been? Why did you leave me in that place all alone? Did you think about me as often as I thought about you? He wants to run to him, jump into his arms, hoot and holler. But it’s taking everything he has just to remain conscious and he doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job at even that much.  
  
Misha looks up briefly from getting Jensen situated in a prone position on the couch, obviously in protective mode. “Listen umm...whoever you are, you must be able to see that this is a bad time. Why don’t you leave. Jensen can contact you when he’s-”  
  
Jared shakes his head emphatically and cuts Misha off. “My name is Jared and I’m not leaving him, not now that I’ve finally found him. Do what you need to do to help him. I’ll stay out of your way.” He matches action to word, sitting back down in the recliner, hunching low as if to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.  
  
Misha’s eyes widen. He lets out a long, low whistle. “You’re Jared? The Jared?” He fixes his penetrating gaze on Jensen. “You alright with him staying?”  
  
Jensen swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth and nods, careful not to rattle his brain in his aching skull any more than necessary.  
  
Ty gets to work, bringing his medical training to bear. “Did you pass out after you hit your head? Throw up?” He pulls a penlight from the medical bag he’d already placed near the couch, shines it in each of Jensen’s eyes.  
  
“He passed out, was unconscious for about fifteen minutes. Stubborn ass wouldn’t go to the hospital though. Made me cancel the ambulance I’d called as soon as he woke up.” Misha frowns, his expressive face making is clear how much Jensen’s refusal to seek out the dubious care of strangers offends him.  
  
“That’s our Jensen,” Ty agrees. “How many times have I set this shoulder for you now?” he asks, but continues without waiting for a reply. “I keep telling him he needs surgery. He won’t hear of it.”  
  
“Shut up, Ty.” Jensen flicks a glance at Jared, doesn’t want Ty’s talk about what a freak he is to scare Jared off again. Jared’s already abandoned him once. Jensen wants to have a chance to talk to him before the takes off a second time. Twelve years is a long time to wait.  
  
Ty sighs as he probes the gash on Jensen’s head. Luckily, it’s at his temple, covered by hair, and Misha had been able to clean it up enough that no one had been unduly alarmed at the airport. “You have a concussion, a severe one at that. And this cut needs stitches. I suppose you’re gonna make me do those too.”  
  
 _My pretty one...won’t be long now...I’ll have you_  
  
Jensen licks his dry lips, pleads, “I can’t go to the hospital. I just can’t, Ty. Please.” The thought of a clinical hospital with exam tables and needles makes his skin prickle as though bugs are crawling all over him. He’s been in too many hospitals, practically lived in one for three years although they didn’t call it a hospital.  
  
Ty’s tone softens. “It’s okay, brother. I’ll do it. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
From his peripheral vision, Jensen sees Jared lean closer and wonders what it means. Is Jared getting ready to leave after all? Has he heard too much? “Don’t go yet, Jared,” he whispers, voice raspy.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere, Jen. I just want to...can I help?” This last part he directs at Ty.  
  
 _He betrayed you...left you...I never will_  
  
Ty is busy examining Jensen’s shoulder. “Yeah, you can as a matter of fact. I have to rotate his arm to get the bones aligned properly and then I have to manipulate the head of the humerus into the glenoid socket. I’ll give him something for the pain, but I don’t have the good stuff here so it’s still gonna hurt like a sonofabitch. I’ll need you and Misha to help me by holding him in position.”  
  
Jared’s face pales. “What the...are you a doctor?”  
  
“Better, I’m an RN.” Ty’s grin is slow and lazy, but Jensen can see the apprehension he’s trying to disguise. After getting Jensen the pain pills and some water, he rubs a hand over his neatly-trimmed sandy-brown beard. “Those’ll take about thirty minutes to kick in. What say Misha and I go to the kitchen, grab some coffee, and give you two some privacy. Looks to me like you have some catching up to do.”  
  
Misha leans over, adjusts the throw pillow under Jensen’s head, and whispers, “You need us, just yell.” Then he inclines his head, glaring daggers at Jared, and follows Ty to the kitchen.  
  
Jensen’s eyes never leave Jared’s face. He’s still in shock, can’t believe Jared is really here. It could all be a dream, some messed up side effect from his concussion. For all he knows, he could have died in the Lexington Botanical Garden and this is what passes as his afterlife. If so, his afterlife involves a lot of pain.  
  
Jared scoots out of the recliner onto the floor, approaching Jensen slowly on his knees as though afraid to move too quickly for fear of breaking a spell. With Jensen lying on the couch and Jared kneeling on the floor, they’re nearly at eye level which Jensen appreciates. Means he doesn’t have to strain his neck by looking up too far.  
  
As many times as he’s rehearsed this moment in his mind, as much as he wants to say, not a single word will come out of his mouth. All he can do is stare.  
  
Sitting cross-legged next to the couch, Jared hesitantly reaches out and takes Jensen’s right hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “I can’t believe I finally found you.”  
  
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Jensen chokes, emotions lodging in his throat.   
  
Silence spools between them as they stare unabashedly, each taking full measure of the other. Jensen compares the stranger in front of him now to the boy he used to know so well, gauges the differences. Jared was always tall and lanky. He’s gotten taller, filled out some, put on some muscle mass. His biceps strain at his long-sleeve shirt and Jensen’s lips curl into a wobbly smile, remembering how Jared used to complain that no matter how much he worked out, no matter how many crates he hauled around at the farmer’s market, he maintained the lean, rangy appearance of a teenage boy. Jensen always told him the muscles would come in time, and look at him now.  
  
“Jen, I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For what happened last time I saw you. Please, you have to let me explain.”  
  
Jensen lifts their joined hands, pressing them gently against Jared’s lips to stop the flow of words. He can’t have the most important conversation of his life now, not when he’s completely wrecked. Not when he’s lightheaded from pain and exhaustion. “Can we not do this now? Let’s talk about something a little less...”  
  
“Emotionally charged?” Jared completes his thought and gives him a smile filled with regret. “Yeah, we can do that. What do you want to talk about?”  
  
“I want to hear about Sam and Dean. Did you finish your graphic novel? Did they ever find out what killed their mother? How did the story end?”  
  
Jared shakes his head, eyes fixed on their clasped hands. “I never had the heart to finish it. You were the one who always encouraged me to keep going with it, told me I was a good enough artist, and gave me new ideas for plots and story lines. That book was as much you as it was me. It didn’t feel right to keep working on it after...” Jared moves his free hand up to Jensen’s forehead and frowns. “You’re burning up.”  
  
Jared’s touch on his face and their linked hands fill the emptiness inside him, and Alistair is mercifully quiet. Has been ever since Jared entwined their fingers together. It’s peaceful inside his head in a way it rarely is and Jared’s hand is blessedly cool on his forehead.   
  
He must doze off for a bit because the next thing he knows, Ty and Misha are back.  
  
“Your thirty minutes are up,” Ty says softly. “It’s time.”  
  
Jared starts scooting back out of the way, disentangling their fingers.  
  
“Stay,” Jensen whispers. _Don’t let go_ , he means.  
  
Puppy-dog eyes out to full effect, Jared looks up at Ty. “He’s in really bad shape. I think he has a fever on top of everything else you’ve already mentioned. I still don’t even know how all this happened, but are you sure we shouldn’t take him to a hospital?”  
  
Misha makes an angry, scoffing sound. “I’ll tell you what happened. He was attacked by a monster. The same monster that killed his parents!”  
  
Ty’s eyebrows shoot upward. They’d told him over the phone that Jensen had been attacked by the suspect in the case they were currently working. They hadn’t gone into any details and they certainly hadn’t told him about the link to Jensen’s past. He probably thinks Misha is talking about a human monster, but it’s still a lot for him to take in.  
  
“Mish, don’t. They don’t know,” Jensen murmurs.  
  
“Well, don’t you think it’s time they did? Don’t you think it’s time the boy you trusted to always stand by you finally learns you were telling the truth?” Misha’s blue eyes are blazing like those of an avenging angel. It’s with a significant amount of astonishment that Jensen realizes somewhere along the way, during the many evenings spent drinking and sharing stories, pouring his heart out to his only confidant, Misha must have developed this righteous anger on his behalf. An anger toward Jared that Jensen himself doesn’t feel, never has. He just feels the way he’s always felt...gutted...resigned...heartbroken...confused.  
  
And Jared, well Jared looks hurt, but this isn’t the same quiet, shy Jared that Jensen used to know. This Jared has grown into a man who right now seems ready to take on Misha and Ty and anyone else standing in his way. The hurt lasts long enough for Jared to squeeze Jensen’s hand in silent apology and then his jaw sets, muscles clenching. “I appreciate that you’re Jensen’s friends and I’m glad he has people looking out for him, I really am, but what happened between Jensen and I back then is our business, not yours.”  
  
Ty shakes off any bewilderment he might be feeling and takes charge, bedside manner out in full force. “We can talk about all this later. Right now, we need to set Jensen’s shoulder so he can rest more comfortably. How are you feeling, brother?” He brushes Jared’s hand aside, replacing it with his own on Jensen’s forehead.  
  
Jensen is having a hard time processing what’s happening. The painkiller/concussion/fever combination makes Jared’s being here after twelve years of missing him like a severed limb seem like a distorted dream sequence. The room is still spinning, and he can’t move his left arm at all. It lies heavy and useless over his stomach.  
  
“The fever is probably his body trying to cope with all the trauma,” Ty says when he doesn’t get an answer to his question. “Let’s get him turned over onto his stomach. It’ll be easier that way.”  
  
Jared lets go of his hand and Alastair immediately begins ranting incoherently as though it has been reduced to nonsense words and gibberish by overwhelming frustration.   
  
_GAGH...NOOOO...ST-GIVE...AHH...MINE...MINE...GRRRR...NYHHH...STOP..._  
  
Lost in the verbal barrage, Jensen closes his eyes as a last-ditch defense. The only thing he can do to help his friends as they work to turn him over is to remain limp and pliant.  
  
Once he’s on his stomach, his left arm gets pulled behind him. The pain is expected, but no less shocking in its intensity, an inferno of heat. He burrows his face in the throw pillow and bites down, effectively gagging himself with rough fabric and pillow stuffing.  
  
“Hold him still. Be firm, but as gentle as you can,” Ty instructs. A little louder, he say, “Jensen, just try to relax, you’re doing great.”  
  
Jensen tries. He knows the drill, knows how much easier the bones will shift back into place if he doesn’t fight against the movement, if he can keep his muscles from instinctively stiffening in anticipation of the agony that’s coming. With a level of concentration that a yoga instructor would be proud of, he imagines himself sinking into the couch cushions, one body part at a time melting into a puddle and being absorbed. All except his jaw muscles which are still clenched tight around his pillow/gag.  
  
Hands fasten around his hips, another set of hands holds his right shoulder and upper back, pressing him down, immobile. He ignores the urge to struggle, submits to their manhandling. Ty’s deep voice rumbles above him, “On the the count of three; one...two...” Ty yanks his left arm backwards and up while pushing down on his shoulder blade. There’s a scraping sound like mortar against pestle followed by a sodden pop. Excruciating pain explodes throughout his entire body as his nerve endings misfire, sending conflicting signals to his brain about which limb is being brutalized. A guttural scream claws its way up his throat, past his teeth, and is only slightly muffled by the pillow. His vision whites out like a supernova has gone off behind his eyelids and then it goes as black as the inside of a cave.


	12. Like You're Under Sedation

**Then**  
  
Jensen sits on the window seat that overlooks the front yard, one foot on the ground and the other in front of him on the wide bench so he can rest his chin on his knee. Even though he hasn’t been here long, this has already become his spot in the common room. He spends all his free time here, watching, and waiting.  
  
“Hey kid, you wanna play some cards?”  
  
Jensen turns from his scrutiny of the hedgerow. A tall, beefy boy with brown hair in a crew cut style is standing there, a deck of playing cards held casually in one hand.  
  
They don’t allow electronics in here, no game systems, not even cell phones. Jensen has seen the other boys playing cards, board games, table tennis, even volleyball with the net out back. None of those things interest him though.  
  
“No,” he says in the dull voice that seems to be the only tone he’s capable of and goes back to gazing out the window.  
  
He’s not sure exactly how long he’s been in this place, maybe a couple days. Long enough for Jared to come if he was going to.  
  
 _Your misery is delicious...wait for me...I‘ll find you_  
  
The voice inside his head croons to him constantly. Jensen doesn’t really see any reason to fight it anymore. He listens and he waits. Time passes, unheeded.  
  
“Jensen!”  
  
His name spoken loudly pierces the fog, makes its way past the incessant susurrations that whisper, taunt, and cajole. Jared is the only person he wants to see and Jared isn’t the one who just said his name, but the insistent inflection brings Jensen’s head around nonetheless.  
  
“Jensen, you really shouldn’t let yourself zone out like that. Hasn’t Doctor Speight explained about dissociative behaviors? You should try interacting with some of the other boys.”  
  
The woman speaking to him works here. Jensen recognizes her wavy, brown hair and kind eyes, but he doesn’t remember her name or what her role here is. She might be a nurse? He doesn’t care enough to find out.  
  
He nods because it’s probably what she wants him to do and goes back to watching the front lawn, good arm wrapped around the leg he has drawn up in front of himself. A piece of the driveway is visible from this window. If Jared comes...  
  
There’s a disappointed huff of air from behind him. “Jensen, please look at me when I’m talking to you.”  
  
Oh, he’d thought they were done. He lifts his head again listlessly.  
  
She stares at him intently for a moment, brown eyes sharp and measuring. “The medication you’ve been prescribed might be too strong,” she says, a concerned frown wrinkling her brow. “Take these for now and I’ll talk to your doctor.” She hands him a small, paper cup with three pills in it and another cup of water.  
  
The oblong one he recognizes as a pain pill. The other two are round. He’s not sure what they’re for. It doesn’t really matter and taking them will get her to leave him alone, so he upends the paper cup over his mouth and swallows all three pills with a slug of water.  
  
“That’s good, Jensen.” She takes back both cups and smiles. “Lunch starts in ten minutes and after that you have a therapy session with Doctor Speight.”  
  
The ache in his shoulder throbs. Wincing, he reaches over to massage the joint through the sling. He remembers the last time he saw Jared; how carefully Jared had removed his shirt and helped him get dressed; how his touch made the monster’s voice go away. “Can I...Can I make a phone call?”  
  
“Who do you want to call, hun?”  
  
“My boyfr-” He stops. Is Jared still his boyfriend? Are they even still friends? “I want to call Jared,” he says in a small voice.  
  
“Jared. Isn’t that the boy you tried to call yesterday?”  
  
He bites down on his lower lip, nods. He didn’t have Jared’s cell number memorized, so he’d called the Padalecki’s listed home phone. No one had picked up. Or returned his call.  
  
“Oh, Jensen. His mother has asked... Um, not today.” She pauses, thinking. “You know, there are several other boys here your age. Maybe you could make friends with one of them.”  
  
“Yeah...okay.”  
  
 _Your world beckons me...such sweet despair...so ripe_  
  
“What do you mean, ‘your world’?” Jensen asks. The monster has never mentioned a different world before. Jensen has tried communicating with it off and on over the past couple days, asking it questions. It never answers him directly. Still, every once in a while, it says something that makes him curious enough to try again.  
  
“Jensen? Who are you talking to?”  
  
Glancing up, he catches the nurses appraising eyes. He’d forgotten she was still there.  
  
“It,” he states simply.  
  
“It? The voice you hear?” Her tone is carefully neutral. “What is it saying to you right now?”  
  
He’s been telling the truth ever since he got here, even though no one believes him. They make no secret of it, explaining that he’s been traumatized and the voice he hears is simply a manifestation of that trauma. It isn’t real. That’s what they keep telling him. He knows they’re wrong.  
  
 _The doorway is closed...hate it...hate it here_  
  
“It says a lot of things, a lot of the same stuff over and over again, mostly about how it likes sadness and despair. Right now, it’s talking about a closed door and how it hates to be there.”  
  
She makes a speculative humming noise like she has just come across an interesting new species of butterfly. “I’m sure Dr. Speight has already explained this to you, Jensen. You aren’t stuck here forever. You’re young and strong. There’s no reason why you can’t get better and live a happy, productive life.” The smile she gives him is falsely bright and cheery.  
  
It’s not like Jensen doesn’t know what she’s thinking. He may feel like heavy fog obscures his senses most of the time now, but he isn’t stupid. She thinks the voice he hears is part of him, his subconscious. He knows differently. It’s not him saying that he feels trapped here. It’s the monster who’s trapped somewhere. _It_ wants to get free. Not him. Jensen doesn’t really care where he is or whether he’ll ever get out. There’s nowhere for him to go anyway.  
  
“Why don’t you make your way over to the dining room? Lunch is almost ready.” She puts out a hand, but is careful not to touch him. No one touches him here, not even a comforting pat on the back.  
  
Despite the other boys in the room, lunch is a solitary affair for Jensen. Some of the others sit at the same table as him because there aren’t enough tables for him to have one to himself. They pretty much leave him alone though. He’s the newest arrival and, once he made it clear he wasn’t interested in joining one of their groups, they lost interest in him.  
  
The tray in front of him holds a carton of milk, a bowl of fruit salad, two breaded fish sticks and some fries. He didn’t pick this meal; everyone gets the same thing. Even at school, he’d had some choices. Not here. Not that it matters. He’s not hungry. He nibbles on a fry.  
  
 _Doors upon doors...doors without end...all locked_  
  
“Are you gonna eat your fruit?”  
  
Jensen contemplates a spot on the wall, the fry remains forgotten in his hand. The monster’s voice continues to drone, and Jensen gets lost in the buzzing whisper.  
  
“Hey! What’s wrong with you, freak? Can’t you hear? I asked if you were gonna eat your fruit!”  
  
The boy’s loud question catches his attention. The monster’s voice fades into the background.  
  
“You can have it.”  
  
Without a second glance, the kid swipes the bowl from his tray.   
  
Jensen goes back to staring at the wall.  
  
***~~~***~~~***  
  
The doctor’s office is modest in size and sparsely furnished. A blue folder and a pen lay on the desk which is otherwise uncluttered. Forest landscapes in every shade of green and brown adorn the walls.  
  
“Jensen, I have some good news for you. Your aunt will be coming by to see you tomorrow and she’s bringing your sister, Mackenzie.” Doctor Speight steeples all of his fingers together and presses his index fingers against his close-lipped smile.  
  
“Mackenzie is coming?” He hasn’t seen his sister since before that night. She’d been at her friend’s house, and Jensen is beyond glad she wasn’t at home when the monster attacked. “And Aunt Samantha?”  
  
“Yes, I believe your aunt got in last night. She’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.” The doctor sits back in his chair, propping one ankle on his other knee.   
  
“Is she coming to get me? Will Mackenzie and I be going home with her?” He thinks he would like that. Ever since he got to this place, things have been so muddled.  
  
 _Which light is yours?...I search for you...where are you?_  
  
“That’s something we can discuss. First, I want to talk to you about the voices you hear.”  
  
Concentrating on what the doctor wants from him is hard. The monster hisses and stammers out partial phrases and nonsense words all the time. It’s easier to lose himself in the constant muttering, to just float along like a paper boat adrift in a slow-moving stream. He doesn’t feel like he’s in control of anything, and that doesn’t bother him the way he thinks maybe it should.  
  
“Jensen, did you hear me? I asked you about the voices. Tell me more about them.”  
  
Jensen pulls himself up from the slouch he’d adopted upon first sitting in the chair in front of his doctor’s desk. “I don’t hear voices.”  
  
Eyebrows drawn together, Doctor Speight drops his foot to the floor and leans forward in his chair. “Are you saying the antipsychotic medication you’ve started taking is working? You’re not hearing voices anymore? That’s marvelous. It’s only been a week. It usually takes longer-”  
  
“No, I mean I don’t hear _voices_ ; I hear one voice - the monster’s voice. The one that killed my parents. Remember? I told you about it. It killed my parents and then it tried to kill me, only it couldn’t.”  
  
The doctor returns to his previous position, ankle on knee, his expression schooled into professional interest. He opens the blue folder, flipping through the sheaf of papers. “Right, right, you did tell me that. But Jensen, you do know that there are no such things as monsters, right?”  
  
“Monsters do exist. I saw one.” Jensen’s gaze wanders to the oil painting behind his doctor’s head. Within the depths, among the tree trunks where sunlight cannot penetrate the leafy canopy, a dark figure lurks.  
  
“I have no doubt you saw something horrific the night your parent’s were killed. Something so horrible that your mind is trying to protect you from it by creating this monster.”  
  
What the doctor is saying makes no sense. “Nothing could be more horrible than the monster. Nothing.”  
  
Doctor Speight clears his throat. “As I was saying before, antipsychotic medication can take a while to work. It’s not a one size fits all type of situation. Everyone is different, and what works for one person may not work for someone else. Usually there’s a period of trial and error before we can zero in on the course that works best for an individual patient. Nurse Ferris is concerned that what we have you on now may be exacerbating some of your other symptoms. I’ll make a few changes to your evening regimen and we’ll see how you react to the new course.”  
  
Leaving off his contemplation of the painting, Jensen blinks slowly. “Medication won’t help me because I’m not hearing nonexistent voices. I’m hearing a real voice. The monster is talking to me. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but I do know I’m not crazy.”  
  
“No one’s saying you’re crazy.” A genuine look of compassion on his face, Doctor Speight leans forward again. “How about this, you give medicine a chance. Give me a couple months. I think you’ll start to see things differently if you do. By the time the school year starts up in the fall, I bet you’ll be feeling much better. What do you say? Will you give me a chance?”  
  
A vague sense of disappointment surfaces. “Does that mean I can’t go with my aunt? I have to stay here?”  
  
“Oh, no. When I say ‘me’ I’m referring to the collective medical profession. I’d be happy to treat you here, Jensen. But the decision will be up to your aunt as your legal guardian. I can refer you to another psychiatrist who would be able to continue your treatment if she decides to move you elsewhere.”  
  
That thought isn’t exactly comforting. Jensen can’t bring himself to care much though.  
  
“So, what do you say? Will you give medicine a fair trial?”  
  
Jensen shrugs. He has nothing to lose.  
  
***~~~***~~~***  
  
The house is utterly dark, windows and doors boarded over. A scrapping sound bounces and echoes from all directions, like he’s standing at the bottom of a canyon. Straining his eyes against the pitch black, Jensen turns in a slow circle.  
  
“Who’s there?” His voice sounds tissue-paper thin.  
  
A dry, brittle laugh comes from behind him. The smell of rotting flesh and fetid body odor wafts by on a current of hot air.  
  
He flings a hand out, and it slaps against a hard, smooth surface. A wall. Heart beating frantically and lungs pulling in heaving gulps of air, one after another, like a bellows, he fumbles for a light switch.  
  
The scraping sound gets closer.  
  
Closer.  
  
His hand brushes against the light switch and, with a cry of relief, he flips it on. The sudden burst of light he expects doesn’t occur. Instead, the bulb overhead emits a buzzing, static-like hiss and a weak flicker that creates more shadows than illumination.  
  
Like autumn leaves blowing across a sidewalk, the humorless laughter comes from behind him again.  
  
Jensen spins around. An inky-black shadow surges up from the floor, its shape morphing from one horror movie cliché to the next. One minute it’s a werewolf with snapping, slavering jaws, its wickedly sharp claws outstretched. The next it’s a serial murderer, chainsaw slung over its shoulder and a hockey mask covering its face. It settles on a Godzilla-like creature, covered in slime.  
  
Panic grips him in a vice as the monster continues rising upwards, growing more and more massive. Simultaneously, Jensen begins to shrink. Every time the light strobes on, the monster is bigger and he is smaller. He looks for a weapon, anything he can use to fight, to inflict even a modicum of damage. There’s nothing. The room is empty.  
  
Reaching out a clawed hand bigger than a refrigerator, the creature scoops him up. He struggles wildly, flings himself from side to side, throws punches, thrashes, and bucks. Nothing helps. The fist begins closing around him, squeezing the air from his lungs, squeezing the life from his body. In a last ditch effort, Jensen opens his mouth and screams.  
  
“Shut up, asshole. I’m trying to sleep over here.”  
  
“Leave him alone, Brock. Can’t you see he’s having a nightmare.”  
  
“Yeah, you should know all about that, Colin. You’ve woken me up enough times with your hysterical crying.”  
  
Jensen’s eyes pop open. He’s lying on the floor, his sheets tangled around his waist. Someone is screaming bloody murder. No, not someone. It’s him. He is screaming bloody murder.  
  
Both his roommates are staring at him from their beds, blinking sleepily in the light of a small bedside lamp.  
  
“Hey, are you okay?”  
  
He stops yelling and gets up off the floor. Without saying a word, he gets back in bed, rolling over to face the wall. After a while, the light turns off. The only sound in the room is his labored breathing, until one of the other boys mutters, “Figures I’d get stuck with another freak as a roommate.”  
  
Jensen spends the rest of the night staring into the darkness and shivering as the monster whispers its threats.  
  
 _Pretty boy...got away once...won’t get away again_  
  
***~~~***~~~***  
  
Jensen is sitting in his customary spot in the common room, watching the sliver of driveway that’s visible from his perch, when they pull up. He watches them walk up the front path to the door.  
  
Mackenzie’s hair is pulled back in a ponytail, emphasizing her drawn features. Her eyes are downcast. Aunt Samantha has an arm draped over her shoulders as though Mackenzie needs encouragement just to put one foot in front of the other. She looks miserable. The sight of her reawakens Jensen’s protective instincts.  
  
His Aunt has dark circles under her eyes. Her long, blond hair hangs lank around her face. She looks...wrung out. He supposes that losing a child and an older sister will do that to a person.   
  
Look what losing his parents has done to him.  
  
Soon after they leave his field of vision to enter the building, one of the staff, an older man with a closely trimmed beard more grey than any other color, comes into the room with what’s left of Jensen’s family trailing behind him.  
  
“There he is. Just like I told you. We always know where to find him.” The man beams at Jensen like he’s a well-trained dog. “Well, I’m sure you have lots to talk about, so I’ll just leave you to it. If you need anything, come find me. I’ll probably be at the front desk where you checked in.”  
  
“That’s very kind of you,” his aunt murmurs.  
  
Neither Aunt Samantha or Mackenzie have looked directly at him yet. Mackenzie’s mouth is scrunched up like she’s about to cry. When her eye’s finally dart up to his face, Jensen can see they’re red-rimmed. He tries to remember how to smile so he can reassure her, but before he can, she looks back at the floor. It makes him want to give her a hug, tell her that it’ll be alright, even though he doesn’t believe that himself.  
  
He thinks maybe he should stand up, great them properly. He lowers his foot from the seat in front of him to the ground. Everything seems to be moving in slow-motion, especially him. As he stands, he gets lightheaded, possibly from lack of sleep. He never did fall back asleep last night. The room dips and his foot catches on thin air. He stumbles, catches himself, and looks up to find his aunt staring at him, mouth drawn into a tight line.  
  
“Hi Aunt Sam. I’m so sorry about Isabella.” He turns to his sister and takes a jerky step forward, good arm held out at his side. “Hey Mackie.”  
  
Mackenzie cringes back behind his aunt.  
  
Jensen doesn’t understand. Why would she do that? They’ve never been close siblings, never hung out together or had much in common, but she’s never been afraid of him before. He lowers his arm, awkward and unsure. Doesn’t look like he’s going to get a hug from either his aunt or his sister, which is a shame. If Jared were here, he’d probably give him a hug. Jared gives good hugs. Jensen wonders what Jared is doing right now. Is he working on his graphic novel? He’s such a good artist. A damn good artist.  
  
“Jensen,” Aunt Samantha’s clipped tone catches his attention. “Sit down, please. You look like you’re about to fall over.”  
  
He sits, looking between the two remaining members of his family. “Have you come to take me back to your house. Are we going to live in Wyoming with you now? Can I...can I stop at Jared’s to let him know where I’ll be?” He doesn’t mean to blurt all that out. It’s probably not polite to just invite himself into her life like that. Maybe he should have waited for her to bring it up first. But things are just too hazy and, lately, he gets easily confused.  
  
His aunt sighs. The lines around her mouth soften. “Are they helping you here? Are they treating you for...” She waves her hand around in an all-encompassing gesture. “I hear this is one of the best facilities in the country. It certainly seems nice. The staff...well, the ones I’ve met anyway, all seem very nice.”  
  
He can see where this is going, can see the writing on the wall. She doesn’t have to say another word. It’s clear he won’t be going to live with them in Wyoming. He’s slow to answer, but when he does, his voice is firmer than it had been in a while. No point making this any harder than it has to be. “Yes, they are.”  
  
“That’s good, Jensen, because you’ve got to know...this story you’ve been telling everyone, about a monster killing Donna and Alan, it’s nonsense. You know that, don’t you?” The words start coming faster, more shrill, and any pretense of concern for his well-being evaporates. “Are you doing it on purpose? Are you lying to cover up for someone? Do you know who did it and so you made up this wild story to throw the police off their trail. Because I don’t get it. I just don’t understand why you’re doing this.” Her hand flies up to her mouth as if she can physically reel the words back in and swallow them.  
  
Shocked, Jensen stares at her, unblinking. He’s so numb he doesn’t feel the tears roll down his cheeks.  
  
Mackenzie sniffles.  
  
Eyes wide, his aunt says, “I didn’t mean that. Jensen, I’m sorry.”  
  
His gaze slides around the common room, landing on the card tables and the television and the ping pong table, anywhere but on his family. “So, you want me to stay here?”  
  
“Just until you’re better. It’s for your own good.”  
  
Jensen thinks her words are more for her benefit than his. She just doesn’t want to think of herself as the kind of person who would abandon family. But she doesn’t want him. Doesn’t want the hassle and the trouble of dealing with someone as messed up and broken as him.  
  
“Mackenzie will come live with me and when your doctor says you’re ready, you’re welcome to come as well. Your parents had life insurance. It’ll pay for you to stay here as long as you need.”  
  
Anger wells up in him. It burns away some of the fog. “That’s good then, isn’t it?” he sneers. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Dismissing them, he turns away to gaze out the window again. He doesn’t need them. He can handle this by himself. Somehow, he’ll find a way.  
  
“It’s just until you get better,” his aunt repeats. There’s a long moment of silence, like she doesn’t think she should leave it like that, but doesn’t know what else to do. Eventually she sighs and says, “Goodbye Jensen.”  
  
He waits a few minutes and, when he looks over his shoulder, they’re gone.  
  
His sister never said a single word to him, not even goodbye.  
  
 _Yes...give in...don’t fight it...your sadness pulls me closer_  
  
Through the lens of his new-found anger, the monster’s words take on a more sinister quality, and Jensen recognizes them for the threat they are. Up until this point, he’s been giving the monster exactly what it wants.  
  
Well, no more. It’s time to fight.


	13. Let's do the Time Warp Again

**Now**  
  
“Jesus,” Jared murmurs. “Is he...?”  
  
A hand brushes sweaty hair from his forehead. Fingers trail down to his neck, checking his pulse. Jensen floats on the unfamiliar sensations of being cared for and safe while his muzzy thoughts tumble and spin and the pain slowly recedes to a dull, persistent throb.  
  
“I think he’s out and that’s a damn good thing. He needs the rest, plus I’ve still gotta close up that gash with a couple stitches.” Ty’s usually whiskey-smooth voice sounds shaken, and Jensen gets it. He’s putting his friends through the ringer. Even as out of it as he is, he knows he’s not being fair to them. They don’t deserve this. They shouldn’t have to deal with him and all the screwed up crap that comes with him. He needs to get his shit together and put an end to Alistair before Ty and Misha and especially Jared get any more tangled up in his mess. It’s not like he hasn’t gone it alone before. He may not like it, he may suck at it, but he’s had a lot of practice being a solo act.  
  
With an effort, he blinks his eyes open. Jared’s blurry face is the first thing he sees.  
  
“Hey, there you are,” Jared husks, lips turned up in a soft smile. “We thought you might sleep for a while longer.”  
  
“Nah, too much excitement around here.” Jensen flexes his right arm, testing his strength and trying to regain his bearings. He’s still lying on his stomach, the spit-soaked pillow against his cheek, his left arm at an awkward angle behind him. It’s not the most comfortable position he’s ever been in and, although he’s loath to admit it, he’s too weak yet to shift into a more comfortable one. “Help me turn over?” he requests, too exhausted and dizzy to be as mortified as he probably should be by his helpless state.  
  
“You never do what’s in your own best interest, do you? Why couldn’t you just stay unconscious until I finished sewing up your head?” Ty complains as he directs Misha and Jared on how to roll Jensen over without further injuring his newly re-socketed shoulder.  
  
Once he’s on his back, and Misha has thankfully flipped the pillow over so that the wet side is down, Ty commences placing three neat stitches into his scalp. It hurts, but Jensen is beyond the point of registering the pain as anything worse than the stinging of a really angry wasp.  
  
Exhaustion tugs at him like he’s caught in a relentless undertow hellbent on dragging him beneath the surface. But there’s something he needs to do before he rests, and after years of training his body to go without sleep, he knows exactly what to do to push through it. All he has to do is keep moving, shake off the pain and the drugs and the urge to give in, even if only for a little while, and use what’s left of his dwindling reserves to get up off the couch. Once up, it’ll get easier. The trickiest part will be getting his friends to leave him alone.  
  
His exhaustion is something he can use, however, and use it he does. He lets it color his voice as he slips into that twilight state of awareness and murmurs groggily, “Gonna sleep now.”  
  
“That’s good Jense, you sleep. We’ll be right here if you need us,” says Misha.  
  
“Not necessary. Got your own lives...” he yawns. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
Ty looks at his watch and frowns. “I do have a shift starting at the hospital soon.”  
  
“Go,” Jensen nods at Misha and Jared, closes his eyes. “You two c’n go too. C’m back t’morrow. Don’ watch me sleep. S’creepy.” The mumbled words aren’t an act. He’s so tired his tongue feels like he’s just had a shot of Novocain.  
  
Okay, big guy. You sleep.” Ty pats his leg. “I’ll check in on you after my shift. I’ll bring home a shoulder sling.”  
  
There’s a whispered conversation at the other end of the room, then footsteps past the couch, receding into the entrance hall. The front door opens and shuts. Finally, there’s silence broken only by Alistair’s stilted monologue.  
  
 _Are you ready?...we can become whole...mend all that is broken..._  
  
Jensen opens his eyes. The room is empty. Holding his breath against the pain movement brings, he swings his legs over the side of the couch and makes the arduous journey from prone to sitting. It takes him a moment of sitting there, cradling his left arm against his chest and panting from exertion, before he’s ready to stand. He regains his feet only to have the room pitch underneath him. Fuck, this sucks.  
  
He shuffles out to the garage to prepare a space for all the supplies he’ll need. The best part of this summoning...ritual...or whatever, is that everything he needs is already right here at the house. They always keep a large bag of rock salt in the garage for de-icing the steps and walkway during winter. The water hose is already hooked up to the house’s water supply in the front yard. Matches and candles are in the kitchen. The vial containing Alistair’s spore that he got from the Lexington police evidence locker is still in his jacket pocket. According to David’s video, the only other thing he needs is a connection to Alistair and _that_ he has in abundance.   
  
_Want you...so pretty...so sweet...delicious_  
  
Oh yeah, and sorrow. No problem there either.  
  
The garage is empty except for a lawn mower and the few tools and car care items he deems essential to home ownership. Gardening has never been his thing so he doesn’t have any rakes or shovels or any of that stuff. And with five people sharing a house, it’s just easier for everyone if the cars are parked in the driveway or on the street. The large, clutter-free garage is perfect for what he has planned now. The fact that there isn’t much flammable material nearby is a definite plus as well.  
  
Everything gathered, Jensen uses the information David shared in the video to prepare for Alistair’s arrival. Strange as it may seem, salt is the most potent weapon in his arsenal against the monster. Salt adheres to its slimy skin as if it were a giant slug and dissolves its flesh just like acid. Because of this, Alistair is repelled by salt and won’t cross over a salt line drawn on the ground. Jensen pours a large salt circle on the concrete floor, retaining enough to throw at Alistair when it materializes.   
  
Next, he lights a fat candle and places it in the middle of the circle. The candle will be used as a focal point of energy. It’s not as strong an energy source as the electricity and battery pack used by the Men of Letters, but Jensen is betting on the established connection already forged between them. The connection that has linked him to the monster and its insidious voice for the past twelve years should be enough to draw it to him once the words are spoken.   
  
To increase the bond even further, he pulls the vial from his pocket, removes the stopper with his teeth since he only has one functioning hand at the moment, and pours a glob onto his palm. The rest he pours inside the salt circle, careful not to get any on the candle. The foul smell fills his nostrils, making him shudder and gag. He hopes the monster’s spore will provide Alistair any additional assistance it might need in finding him. Alistair has always wanted to get to him. That’s never been the issue. Now that Jensen knows what beacon to use to show it the way, he has no doubt the monster will come.   
  
The last precaution is four buckets of water placed strategically around the garage in case the fire gets out of hand. It shouldn’t, but Jensen has no desire to burn his house down along with Alistair. Better safe than sorry, as they say.  
  
This is it. He’s ready.  
  
Standing outside the circle, he puts his one good hand into his pocket and clenches the book of matches stashed there. By his feet is the half-full bag of salt. He concentrates on the candle, taps into the core of all his emotional pain, and in a loud, clear voice he begins, “Alastair, I call you forth. By your name I command you to appear. Know that I know who you are and in so knowing I summon you. Appear before me now.”  
  
The candle flickers.  
  
 _Yes...yes...yes...I come_  
  
Louder, Jensen repeats the phrase. “Alastair, I call you forth. By your name I command you to appear. Know that I know who you are and in so knowing I summon you. Appear before me now.”  
  
The stench grows stronger and the candle gutters and fizzles out.  
  
Again, “Alastair, I call you forth. By your name I command you to appear. Know that I know who you are and in so knowing I summon you. Appear before me now.”  
  
The air inside the circle shimmers like a heat mirage and Alistair steps through an invisible doorway, malice in every line of its inky-black body. Pus glistens from open sores as boils erupt and reform, bubbling and oozing.  
  
Jensen’s insides turn to water. Nothing could prepare him for seeing Alistair face-to-face in a fully lit room. Nothing.  
  
Alistair takes a step forward and Jensen is paralyzed. All he can do is stare in shocked horror.  
  
“Wanted you for so long...now you’re mine.” The monster’s words, spoken aloud, are even more menacing than the ones Jensen has heard inside his head all these long years.  
  
Another step brings Alistair in contact with the salt circle and it screeches, high-pitched and piercing.  
  
The scream breaches Jensen’s stupor. He grabs the open bag of salt, flinging it in a wide arc at the monster. Salt pellets explode from the bag. They fly in all directions, many of them finding their target. Alistair’s screams become frantic, gnashing wails. It thrashes and squeals.  
  
Jensen reaches into his pocket and pulls out the book of matches.  
  
The garage door bangs open and there, red faced and panting, stands AJ. “Don’t you dare kill him! I’ve been working on this project for twelve years. You’re ruining everything.”  
  
Determined to end this once and for all, Jensen holds the book between his teeth, pulls off one match, and strikes it against the packet still in his mouth. The spark is short lived. He tries again. Still no flame.  
  
AJ takes the opportunity to race across the room and body slam Jensen. Pain erupts in his shoulder, stealing his breath. The book of matches flies out of his mouth and he loses his footing, toppling to the ground. AJ lands on top of him and there’s a mad scramble for the matches.  
  
Inside the circle, Alistair continues to writhe and scream, flesh melting. Steam rises from the pock marks where the salt pellets cling.  
  
The chaos masks Misha and Jared’s arrival. Jensen doesn’t even know they’re there until AJ is forcibly lifted off him.   
  
Face a hardened mask, Misha gets AJ in a headlock. “You fucking idiot!” Jensen’s not sure if this is addressed at AJ or at him. Probably both of them.  
  
Jared’s head is on a swivel, rotating back and forth between the convulsing monster and Jensen.  
  
Jensen’s nearly done in and he knows it. His reserves are so far past depleted, he can barely remember his own name, much less what he’s supposed to be doing. The matches are important, though. He needs the matches. “Jared, the matches. I need them.” He points to where the matches lie.  
  
“Nooo!” screams AJ. “Don’t burn him. You’ll kill him for sure. I need him!” Struggling against Misha’s hold, he seems to be straining towards one of the buckets of water, arms outstretched.  
  
Jared snaps out of his daze and bends down to retrieve the matches. He hands them to Jensen and carefully helps him stand.  
  
This time, the dizziness doesn’t slow him down. Jensen grits his teeth and forces his left hand to obey orders, to hold the book of matches steady while he pulls another from the pack and strikes it. The match flares to life on the first try. Using the lit match, he ignites the entire pack and tosses it at Alistair.  
  
There’s a loud ‘whoomf’ sound and flames engulf the wretched creature, licking at it’s tar-like skin. Jensen watches as thick, black smoke billows upward from the conflagration.  
  
He turns to face Jared, tries for a wry smile, fails.   
  
He knows he’s going to pass out before it happens. There’s nothing he can do about it. He takes one step toward Jared and his legs give out, refusing to support his weight any longer.  
  
Jared catches him as he falls.   
  
He hears, “You did it. It’s over. You’re gonna be okay.”  
  
Then nothing.  
  
***~~***~~***~~**  
  
He startles awake, a scream tearing its way up his throat.  
  
“Easy, easy.” A warm hand rests lightly on his right bicep. “You’re safe.”  
  
“Alistair?” he croaks.  
  
“Is toast, literally burnt to a crisp. It’s never going to hurt anyone ever again.”  
  
Jensen takes a moment to think about that. It’s been twelve years since his parents were killed. Twelve years that he’s lived with the monster’s voice in his head.   
  
And now, it’s gone.  
  
He breathes in, breathes out. Stills his mind and body. Listens.  
  
Only silence greats him.  
  
The voice is gone.  
  
He looks around and realizes he’s lying up against someone on the couch. Long arms encircle him.  
  
“Jare? Are you snuggling me?”  
  
Jared huffs a quiet laugh. “You better believe I am. You scared the crap out of me.”  
  
“Where’s Misha?”  
  
“He took AJ to the police station. Said he wasn’t sure what to charge him with, but he’d figure something out. He’s pissed at you, by the way.”  
  
Jensen sighs. “Yeah, I figured he would be.”  
  
“He had your number though. Before we left, he told me you might decide to do something stupid if we left you alone for too long. That’s way we came back so soon.”  
  
“What about you?” Jensen shifts a little in Jared’s arms, not enough to dislodge them, just enough so that he can see his friend’s face.  
  
“What about me?”  
  
“What are you still doing here? You came to find me and walked straight into a nightmare. I wouldn’t blame you if you hightailed it out of here and never looked back.”  
  
“Well, that’s not happening. We still have a lot of talking to do.” Jared hesitates, bows his head. “I have a lot of apologizing to do. But I plan to make it up to you, all of it.”  
  
Unable to hold back any longer, Jensen asks the question that used to burn hot like lava inside his heart, but has since turned to cinder and ash, “Why didn’t you ever come to see me? In the Home. I-I waited for you. Every day for...for years.” A single tear slips down his cheek unheeded.  
  
Jared’s breath hitches. He closes his eyes and when he opens them again, their blue-green depths are filled with heart-rending regret. “Jen...I tried. I swear I did.”  
  
“Then w-why?” Jensen hates how his voice cracks. But his emotions are too close to the surface. He doesn’t have the strength to shove them behind a wall. Who’s he kidding? His walls crumbled to dust the moment he saw Jared standing in his living room. He’s wide open and as emotionally vulnerable as a five year old.  
  
Jared clenches his jaw and his body stiffens. “My mother. She...I don’t want to make her sound like she’s a bad person. She’s not a bad person. She’s just not the most compassionate person either.” He looks down at their clasped hands. “I won’t make excuses for her. What she did to us - to you - was horrible.”  
  
“What did she do?”  
  
“After they took you away that day, I begged her to change her mind, to let you come back. I pestered her relentlessly until she finally broke down and told me my dad was having an affair. He wanted a divorce.” Jared’s chin quivers.  
  
Jensen’s chest aches for his then-teenage friend. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, don’t be sorry. It’s nothing compared to what you were going through.” Jared shakes his head. “I tried to go see you, every day, but mom always had something she wanted me to do for her. She got possessive and needy. I’d never seen her like that. She’d always been so aloof. I figured out later that she was manipulating me. She was just doing whatever it took to keep me away from you. I’m not sure why. She kept telling me that you were getting the help you needed, and that I would only interfere with your treatment.”  
  
The sound that escapes Jensen’s mouth is part choked sob and part muffled groan. Treatment? His treatment had consisted of antipsychotic medication and therapy sessions where they told him nothing he’d seen that night was real. He’d needed Jared so badly back then. He’d needed his friend.  
  
Jared gently thumbs away the tear on his cheek, cupping his jawline. “A few days later she told me your aunt had come and taken you and Mackenzie back to Wyoming.”  
  
“My aunt didn’t...she couldn’t-”  
  
“I know,” Jared says, tone hushed. “My mom lied. I found out later. But back then, I believed her.” He takes a deep breath. “I called your cell over and over again. Until one day I got a message saying the number had been disconnected. I sent you emails, but they were never answered.”  
  
“They took away my phone. I never got my computer from my house. They didn’t let me have much of my old stuff,” Jensen says in a deadened, barely-there voice.  
  
“Yeah, I’m so sorry, Jen. If I’d known you were still in that home, I would have found a way to get to you. Nothing would have kept me away.”  
  
“I tried to find you too,” Jensen mutters, “when I...when I turned eighteen. They let me out and I tried...you were gone.”  
  
“Mom moved us before that summer ended. She didn’t even wait for the divorce to be finalized. I’ve lived in California since my sophomore year of high school.” Jared’s eyes go dewy. “I’m so sorry Jen. Can you ever forgive me?”  
  
“Don’t be sorry, Jare. It’s not your fault. It’s remarkable that you were able to find me at all. How did you anyway? After all these years.”  
  
“That’s a very long story, perhaps best saved for another day. Suffice to say, I’ve been looking for you ever since I graduated from college. Got my degree in social work and started trawling the old records from that home where you lived. That facility shut down, by the way. Made locating the records a little harder. I tracked you from there to where you attended college at University of Michigan. Your trail went cold after that. It took a ton of leg work and I owe a bunch of people favors, but I finally found an address for you here in Virginia that looked promising. I jumped on a plane and showed up just in time for the big boss battle.” He quirks a grin. “I guess it wasn’t that long a story after all.”  
  
Jared’s dimples flash. They take Jensen’s breath away for a moment.  
  
“Wow, that’s...Jare, that’s amazing. You’ve really been looking for me all this time?”  
  
“Yeah, and by the way, you don’t have a single social media account, do you?” Jared shakes his head. I can’t tell you how many times I searched for Jensen Ackles on Facebook only to come up empty.”  
  
Jensen ducks his head. “Um, no. No social media. I didn’t know if the monster would be able to track me down that way. I tried to keep a low profile. It never occurred to me that you might be trying to find me.”  
  
“I never stopped looking for you. You meant everything to me. Still do. I should have believed you back then. Like I said, I have a lot to make up for. A lot of lost time. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight ever again, you’ve got another thing coming.”  
  
His embrace gets a little tighter and Jensen feels safer than he’s felt in a very, very long time. They will talk more. He wants to know every single thing Jared has done over the last twelve years. In time. But for now, this? Being held in Jared’s arms again? It’s enough. It’s everything.


	14. Epilogue

**Four Months Later**  
  
Filtered sunshine bathes the bedroom in a warm glow. Jensen wakes slowly. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he glances at the clock. A slow grin spreads across his face. It’s 9:00 am. He got ten hours of sleep last night. Ten hours of glorious, uninterrupted, voice-free, dreamless sleep. He still hasn’t gotten used to being able to let his guard down long enough to fall asleep. Jared being nearby definitely helps him with that. Peaceful sleep is something he doesn’t think he’ll ever take for granted.  
  
Jared stirs beneath him. Somehow, they always end up like this, no matter what position they fall asleep in, Jensen sprawled out on top of Jared like he’s a body pillow, Jared’s arms wrapped tight around him. Jensen blames Jared for pulling him over as if he were a blanket, but Jared assures him he’s the one who crawls on top of Jared during the night. Neither one of them is actually complaining.  
  
“It’s Saturday. Go back to sleep,” Jared mumbles into his hair, nuzzling and kissing the top of his head.  
  
There’s one fool-proof method Jensen has learned to wake Jared up on a weekend. Sliding over so he’s half on and half off, he lowers his mouth over Jared’s and presses their lips together. At first, Jared doesn’t respond so Jensen gets more insistent, grinds his hips against Jared’s muscular thigh and slips a hand inside his boxer briefs, wrapping his hand around Jared’s soft, warm cock, squeezing and massaging until it begins to chub up in his hand.  
  
Jared moans and thrusts, then rolls them until he has Jensen pinned under him. Cupping Jensen’s face in his large hands, he lays a trail of kisses along his jaw to his mouth. They make out for long minutes, taking their time, kisses sensual and heated. Nowhere to be and nothing to do but this.  
  
After a while, their lovemaking becomes more frantic as the tension builds, hearts thumping wildly and hips thrusting. They come into each other’s hands, then lie together, panting softly, Jared’s face burrowed into the hollow of Jensen’s neck.  
  
“That was the best wakeup call ever.” Jared gives a contented little sigh.  
  
Jensen sniggers as best he can with Jared’s weight pressing on his rib cage. “You can show your appreciation by getting off me. Make yourself useful and get a washcloth.”  
  
“Bossy,” Jared complains, even as he rolls off the bed to do as he was told.  
  
“So, today’s the big day.” Jensen says when Jared returns with a wet washcloth. “Sam and Dean are getting their long-awaited debut as a web comic. Are you excited?”  
  
Jared uses the washcloth to clean Jensen’s sticky stomach before giving it to him so he can wipe off his hand. “Nervous as hell is more like it. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. What if no one likes it? Or worse, what if no one even reads it?”  
  
“Are you kidding me? What’s not to like? It’s got action, adventure, drama, spooky stuff, and plenty of B. M.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Jared asks, wide eyed.  
  
Jensen grins, super pleased with himself. “Brotherly moments. B. M. I just made that up. Whatd’you think? Pretty good, right?”  
  
Jared fails miserably at trying to keep a straight face and ends up cracking a huge smile. “That’s what I love about you, Jen. You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better.” Leaning over the bed, he kisses the tip of Jensen’s nose.  
  
“You love me?” Jensen sits up in the bed and rests his back against the headboard, holding the now dirty washcloth out for Jared to take. This isn’t the first time they’ve used the “L” word with each other, but it’s still new enough to make Jensen’s insides flutter when he hears Jared say it.  
  
“You know I do. Why else would I be willing to handle your jizz-covered washcloth,” Jared says as he holds the washcloth gingerly with thumb and forefinger. Jared’s smile is so big that his dimples are etched deeply into his cheeks, making it impossible for Jensen to be offended. “Besides, as you said, what’s not to like? You’re funny and smart and you have the best ideas ever.”  
  
“You mean my kick-ass ideas for how to wake you up in the morning?”  
  
Jared tosses the washcloth into the hamper. “Well, yes that, obviously. And the idea you had to make Supernatural into a web comic with episodes that get posted every week. It’s genius. Now I don’t have to find a publisher or an agent or any of that crap.”  
  
“Right, and with any luck, we’ll get a sponsor or two to supplement what you make with your career as a social worker.” Jensen still can’t believe Jared gave up his high school dream of becoming a veterinarian so he could help teens in crisis like he used to be. Not only had Jared spent every free second he had, searching for him, he’d also devoted his life to making amends in the only way he knew how. “You have plenty of material for new episodes. Who knows, you could be posting episodes every week for the next fifteen years!”  
  
Chuckling, Jared climbs back into bed and pulls Jensen against him so they’re cuddled together chest to chest, legs tangled. “That would be amazing, unlikely, but amazing. Webcomics don’t normally enjoy that kind of longevity.”  
  
Jensen rests his head on Jared’s broad shoulder. “Maybe they don’t, but you have more talent than all the rest of them combined. Supernatural is destined for greatness.”  
  
“You used to do this all the time when we were kids - boost my self-confidence.” Jared kisses the only part of Jensen he can easily reach at the moment which happens to be his ear. “I missed you so much.”  
  
“I missed you too.”  
  
They’re quiet for a while then, just enjoying the leisurely morning in each other’s arms. Jensen revels in the stillness of the house, something he used to dread and now finds he enjoys.   
  
One by one his housemates had all moved out, just as he knew they would someday. It was almost as though they were waiting for him to be ready, like they understood they were the only things holding him together and couldn’t bring themselves to leave him while he needed them. Once Jared moved in, the dynamics in the house quickly changed.   
  
Danneel was the first to leave. She moved in with Christian two weeks after the events of that fateful day.  
  
Two months later, Ty and Felicia surprised him by announcing they had fallen in love and wanted to find a cozy little place for just the two of them.   
  
And AJ, well, AJ is currently serving time for assault. The bruises all over Jensen’s body from being thrown into a tree and his dislocated arm had proven to be very convincing evidence against him. It may not have been AJ who did the actual throwing, but he was responsible nonetheless, and Jensen does not feel guilty about putting him behind bars. Not even a little. It’s a lot better than what Jared wanted to do to him when he heard the full story.  
  
“It’ll be good to see everyone tonight,” Jensen gives voice to his thoughts. They have plans to meet up with Danneel, Christian, Ty, Felicia, and Misha at the Roadhouse, a little hole in the wall bar that Christian frequents. They don’t usually need a reason to get together. In fact, they still eat dinner with one or two of their friends at least once a week even though they no longer live together. But tonight everyone will be there, and Jensen is planning to turn the casual night out into an impromptu party celebrating the launch of Supernatural.  
  
Jared smiles softly. “Yeah, it will.”  
  
“I have to warn you about Misha though.”  
  
Jared’s brow furrows. “What do you mean? Misha and I get along great.”  
  
It’s true. Although they had a rough start, Misha has warmed up to Jared.  
  
“Has he told you about his sea monkeys yet?”  
  
“Noooo.” Confusion colors Jared’s voice. “He hasn’t mentioned sea monkeys. I didn’t know people still had those.”  
  
“Oh yes.” Jensen smirks. “Misha has two sea monkeys named Tony and Maria.”  
  
“Like from West Side Story? Wait...he named them?”  
  
Jensen bursts out laughing. “Please, don’t let him hear you ask that. He takes his sea monkeys very seriously. Yes, they have names and they also have a new addition. Maria has apparently had a baby. You’ll have to congratulate him. He’s a very proud granddaddy.”  
  
Jared huffs, amused. “Granddaddy to a baby sea monkey?”   
  
“That’s right. He’ll probably want to tell you all about it tonight.”  
  
“Glad you warned me. I’ll be sure to show lots of interest.” Jared snuffles against his ear. “You got any other plans for today?”  
  
“I thought I might take the rest of AJ’s stuff to the storage unit. I don’t really want to think about it or him ever again.” Jensen absentmindedly runs his fingers up and down Jared’s upper arm, feeling the taut muscles.  
  
“Understandable.” Jared flexes a little, knowing how much Jensen loves it. “That leaves you with four empty bedrooms.”   
  
“Yeah, this house is a little big for just the two of us. Maybe we should think about selling it and buying something smaller.”  
  
“You could do that, or...” Jared trails off into an uncertain silence.  
  
Jensen lifts up to look at him properly. “Or...?”  
  
“Okay so, I was thinking, and you can totally say no, but...what would you say to getting a couple dogs from the pound? I really like the idea of rescuing a pound puppy or two. You know, just regular old mutts that need a home, someone to love them. My mom never wanted pets in her house, and I’ve always thought it would be so cool to have a dog. But if that’s not something you want, we don’t have to. It’s just a thought-”  
  
Jensen silences his boyfriend with a long, steamy kiss, wrapping his arms around Jared’s head and grabbing a fistful of his hair for additional leverage. When they pull apart, Jared’s eyes are all pupil.  
  
Jensen grins. “It’s a great thought. I love it. But we could have dogs in a smaller house.”  
  
“There’s a part two to my thought.”  
  
Jared ducks his head and looks up at Jensen sheepishly. Jensen wonders what other animals he wants to adopt.  
  
Okay, what’s part two?”  
  
“First of all, let me say I understand this is a big decision and I don’t expect you to make it anytime soon. This is something we would need to think long and hard about, so don’t think I’m suggesting this as anything that might happen in our immediate future or ever.”  
  
Intrigued, Jensen says. “You’ve certainly gotten my attention. What is this thought?”  
  
“It’s only because of my job that the idea came to me.” Jared puts a hand on his cheek, stares deeply into his eyes as though trying to see into his soul. “Jen, there’s lots of kids out there, teenagers, who need a family. Kids who have been abandoned for one reason or another, and I thought, maybe one day...”  
  
Tears fill Jensen eyes. His chest tightens, forcing him to take shallow breaths. He remembers being in the Home, no one to speak up on his behalf, no one to question the medical choices being made for him, no one to give him the hug he so desperately needed. The thought of being there for some other kid, of being able to save someone else from that life, it’s not a thing he’d ever considered. As screwed up as he used to be, it was never a possibility for him before. The idea that now, with Jared by his side, he could totally do that for another teenager, save them like he needed saving, it completely overwhelms him.  
  
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. It’s too soon to bring anything like that up. Forget I said it.” Jared thumbs away the tears that are rolling freely down his cheeks.  
  
“We could do that, couldn’t we?” Jensen chokes past the lump in his throat. “We could give a kid a home. A real home.” A family.  
  
Jared kisses his wet cheeks. “We could, but only when you’re ready. We do it on your time table. Or we don’t do it at all.”  
  
Jensen thinks about how different his life could have been if he’d had one person, just one, who he could have trusted to have his back. He spent so many years surrounded by people, but not a single one who believed him, taking pills that did nothing to help him, left to his own devices to figure out coping methods and strategies for issues that no one else could even conceive. He’s under no illusion that there are other kids out there suffering through exactly what he went through. His situation is unique. That doesn’t mean there aren’t others who could benefit from his experience.   
  
Jensen has always craved a family. Leave it to Jared, with his amazing heart and its huge capacity for love, to show him the way.  
  
Jensen uses the heels of his hands to wipe away the remaining tears. His chin wobbles, but he manages a smile. “Let’s start with the dogs.”  
  
Jared kisses him lightly on the lips. “We’ll start with the dogs. And then we’ll see.”  
  
Jensen’s whole life lies ahead of him. For the first time, he realizes he can do anything with it he wants. No more limitations. No more boundaries. No more self-enforced insomnia. No more unsolvable quests.  
  
He’s free.

The End


End file.
